you slam your bedroom door shut, breath short and face flushed, the chaotic hum of your family’s get-together buzzing below like a swarm of bees. the bass of your cousin’s questionable party playlist rattles the floor, and someone’s obnoxious laugh echoes up the stairwell.
but inside your room?
pure chaos of a different kind.
“jungwon!” you whisper-yell, freezing at the sight of your boyfriend in the middle of changing out of his red-and-blue spider suit. he’s half-dressed, his toned torso exposed under the dim yellow light, shirt clutched in one hand. his eyes meet yours, and for a second, both of you just stand there—completely still.
“look away!” he gasps, scrambling to tug his white shirt over his head. it catches on his damp hair and sticks halfway.
“this is my room,” you hiss, slapping his arm as you stomp in. “what are you even doing here?”
“ow!” he winces, rubbing his forearm. “you texted me to save you!”
you narrow your eyes. “i also said my whole family is here, jungwon. that includes my aunt with hawk vision and unholy matchmaking skills. if she even smells testosterone in here, i’m doomed.”
“you said—and i quote—‘save me before i crawl out this function window’ with like... seven emojis,” he says dramatically, now fully shirted and looking mildly offended. “i thought it was urgent.”
you flop down on your bed with a groan. “i was exaggerating. you weren’t supposed to literally show up in costume and climb through my window like an action figure!”
jungwon walks over slowly, dropping his mask on your desk chair, his expression softening. “you looked so done in that group selfie. i couldn’t leave you suffering like that.”
you blink up at him, exasperated—but your chest betrays you with a flutter.
before you can speak, jungwon gently kneels beside the bed and leans in. his hand brushes your cheek, and his lips graze yours—slow and sweet, with the taste of faint mint and adrenaline. the kiss lingers, melting some of the irritation from your shoulders.
“you okay?” he asks against your lips.
“i got interrogated about marriage and said I'm looking too tired within the same hour,” you murmur.
jungwon pulls back slightly to look at you. his jaw twitches.
“give me five minutes,” he says darkly. “i’ll web ‘em.”
you laugh, fingers curling into his suit at his waist. “you can’t just web my family.”
“i can, and i will—in the name of love and fashion justice.”
you tug him closer, your grin softening. “you’re ridiculous.”
his hand cups your cheek. “you’re beautiful.”
jungwon chuckles, then kisses you again—this time deeper. his hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer, and the way he holds you makes your heart ache a little in the best way.
he pulls back, just a breath apart. “i love you,” he whispers.
you smile. “i love you more.”
his brow furrows. “not possible.”
“oh, it is.”
“no, because I—”
a knock rattles the door.
you both freeze.
“y/n?” a familiar voice calls out. your aunt. “is someone in there? i saw someone through the hallway window.”
jungwon’s face drains of color. your eyes widen.
“hide!” you hiss.
“where?! i’m in my suit!”
you shove him toward the corner and throw your blanket over the desk chair—his gloves, web-shooters, and literal suit boots still in plain view.
“y/n?” she knocks again, this time more firmly. “i heard a male voice!”
jungwon dives behind your bed curtain just as you whip around and grab your phone.
“uh—hi, yes!” you call, frantically opening an audiobook and hitting play. some overly-dramatic shakespeare voice booms out. “i’m just... listening to romeo and juliet! for class!”
jungwon mouths romeo and juliet? from behind the curtain, looking betrayed.
“at ten-thirty?” your aunt asks, suspicious. “during a function?”
“midnight deadline!” you squeak, heart hammering. “college, you know!”
a long silence follows. then, a very judgmental “…alright. just come down soon.”
you don’t breathe until her footsteps fade away.
you whip around, glaring at the shape behind your curtain.
“you almost got me killed,” you whisper-yell.
jungwon slowly peeks out, looking very proud of himself. “technically, i saved you from marriage interrogation. again.”
“you’re unbelievable.”
“and you’re adorable when you panic,” he says, leaning in to kiss your cheek.
you push him half-heartedly. “they definitely saw someone come in through the window. i’m going to be grilled like a barbecue chicken.”
he takes your hand, grinning. “then let’s go.”
you blink. “what?”
“let’s get out of here. just for tonight.” he picks up his mask again. “i’ve got the suit, i’ve got the girl, and i know a rooftop that sells fried tteokbokki till 2am.”
your heart flutters. “you’re serious?”
jungwon grins, already zipping the suit back up. “baby, i never joke about late-night fried food or escaping awkward family events.”
he holds out his hand.
“you in?”
you hesitate for all of two seconds before slipping your hand into his. “always.”
he pulls you to the window, lifting you with practiced ease. once your feet land on the ledge, you cling to him, your heart racing—not from fear, but from the thrill of being his.
he adjusts his grip, locking one arm securely around you. “hold tight.”
you nod.
and then—you’re flying.
the wind rushes past your face as jungwon swings you through the sky, skyscrapers sparkling below like galaxies turned upside down. the city unfolds beneath you, electric and infinite, and jungwon laughs against your hair as you shriek, clinging to him.
when he finally lands on the rooftop of an old apartment building, you’re breathless—laughing and windblown.
he sets you down, brushing your hair back with one hand. “better?”
you nod, smiling so wide your cheeks ache. “infinitely.”
he leans in, pressing a kiss to your nose. then your lips. then your forehead. “told you i’d save you.”
you tangle your fingers in the fabric of his suit and pull him closer. “next time, bring fries too.”
he laughs, kissing you again under the stars. “next time, i’ll bring the whole cart.”
and just like that, as the city breathes around you and the moonlight wraps you both in silver, you feel like you’ve finally escaped—free from questions, from noise, from everyone else.
just you. just him.
your spider-boy. your favorite escape.
스루 ܃ first off, shit title i know TT second, i wish spiderman was real so i could kiss him 😕
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description: Chenle finds an old love letter in the dorm printer trash and does the most logical thing: threatens to read it aloud at Movie Night unless the owner steps forward. The problem? It’s your friend’s letter, and she immediately begs you to pretend it’s yours. Now you’re fake confessing to Chenle on her behalf, and he just seems amused. And suspiciously into it.
a/n: unedited and not beta-d because i wrote this purely fueled by the thought of taeyong coming back and like i just let the neo rip through me... sorry um. yes anyways, this is my comeback :))) this is personally a very chenle thing to do in my opinion so i hope you thinks so too and i did not do our main yapper's yapping tendencies justice with this but bear with me guys :sob:
The dorm’s bulletin board is usually a wasteland of passive-aggressive Post-its and flyers you never read. Someone’s always trying to sell a desk lamp, or start a study group, or threaten the rest into keeping the kitchen clean.
Which is why you almost don’t notice the new piece of paper pinned dead-center with three thumbtacks like it’s the announcement of the century.
You wouldn’t have looked twice if Yizhuo didn’t suddenly grab your arm hard enough to cut off your circulation.
“What the hell,” you hiss, shaking her off. “Do you mind? I like having blood in my hand.”
She stares at the notice like it’s about to lunge off the board and strangle her. “Oh my god,” she whispers. “Oh my god.”
You glance between her and the paper. “What?”
Yizhuo swallows hard. “I'm not going to freak out.”
“That’s literally what people say right before freaking out.”
She ignores you, steps forward, and points at the paper without actually touching it. Like it’s a crime scene. “That’s my letter.”
You blink. “What?”
“The one in the notice!” she snaps. “I typed it out last week after the midterms, when we got drunk. Printed it and then panicked and threw it away. Now—” She waves at the paper like it’s personally offended her. “—this is happening.”
You actually read it this time.
Notice: Lovers and Cowards
Did you (or someone you know) pour their heart out into a love letter, only to chicken out and toss it near the dorm printer? Bad news: I found it. Worse news: it’s going public.
Unless the rightful owner steps up, this masterpiece of romance will be read dramatically during Movie Night this Friday. Don’t make me do this. (Actually, please do—I love the drama.)
Claim it before then, or prepare to be exposed. No judgment… maybe.
You look back at her slowly. “…You wrote a love letter.”
“Yes.”
“And threw it away by the printer.”
“Yes.”
“And now some lunatic has it and is threatening to read it in front of the whole dorm.”
She throws her hands up. “Not just some lunatic. Look at the name! It's Zhong Chenle. He'll fucking humiliate me in front of everyone. If he reads it on the day of the movie night, the person I wrote it to will figure it out."
You lean back a little. “How?"
“It's Jun—" She stops herself, looking around before leaning in to whisper into your ear. "It's Junghoon. You know I talk to him a lot. He'll easily know that it was me and that is the last thing I want right now."
You nod slowly. "Okay… So just go claim it? That way he won't reveal anything."
Yizhuo backs up and sighs, palms fisting at her hip. "Babe. So you clearly don't know Zhong Chenle that well."
She takes the quizzical look on your face as the sign to continue. "I've known the guy since middle school, and for some reason he just likes pissing me off. Even if I owned up to it, he would go and tell Junghoon."
You open your mouth to retort, but she beats you to it. "Trust me. I know."
"What will you do then?"
Yizhuo stills, eyes narrowing in on you. Softly, she brings up her palms to grip your elbows. "My love. My darling friend. The one who's got my back at all times—"
You shake your head, trying to pry her fingers off. "No."
"You don't even know what I was going to say!"
"Well, it can't be great if it needs a build-up like that. So no."
"Please," she pleads, calling out your name. "All you'd have to do is go up to him and say it was yours. He won't care if it's you because he doesn't know you."
"And why would I embarrass myself in front of a total stranger?" You sigh, walking away from the notice board and over to the couches.
Mark Lee—you recognize him because he shares a class with you, one that you can't recall at the moment—sits on one of the couches with his girlfriend, and you'd rather not listen in to their conversation. So you plop down onto the farthest seat and watch as Yizhuo dramatically falls to her knees in front of you. The carpet hasn't been cleaned in, well, god knows how long, and you try to pull her up.
She swats your hand away.
"Please. Embarrassment is not a word in your dictionary, and honestly, it isn't one in his either. Which is why he would do such a thing." She rolls her eyes before muttering to herself. "God, that fucking idiot. Always up in everybody's business."
You watch her with equal parts disbelief and amusement as she flails around. The dust and questionable stains cling to her jeans, but she’s too focused on her theatrics to care. You reach down again, this time tugging a little harder at her elbow. “Get up before you catch something.”
Yizhuo finally gets up with a small grunt, dusting her knees off before putting the same palms on your shoulders. You flinch with disgust.
"Come on. You just have to go up to him, tell him that it was you and that he should never bring this up again and walk out!"
“Okay, okay. I don’t really know Chenle that well,” you admit, glancing toward the notice board like it’s the root of all your problems. “But from what you say, he sounds like exactly the kind of guy who would make this hell for you.”
She nods, relieved. “Right? He’s like the unofficial dorm detective—except instead of solving crimes, he just digs up everyone’s secrets and spreads them for fun.”
You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “So, you want me to be your shield. Walk up, claim the letter like it’s mine, and then pray Chenle doesn’t turn it into some dorm-wide scandal.”
Yizhuo’s smile widens. “You got it. You’ll save me from eternal humiliation.”
You shake your head, already feeling the weight of this terrible favour. “Fine. But if Chenle makes a mockery of me, you owe me. Big time.”
She throws her arms around you with a squeal, and your eyes flicker over to where Mark and his girlfriend watch you two with thinly veiled concern. You shoot an awkward smile and a thumbs-up at them.
So you make the walk of (slight) shame over to Mark who sits, bent over a mass media law textbook. Ah, that's the class you share.
You realise, soon enough, that you might have to confront Zhong Chenle earlier than you expected. The pinned message in the dorm's group chat stares at you in all its glory.
Gentle reminder, D-2 to the movie night. Hope everybody is excited! (and please, bring your own snacks. We're uni students, not billionaires)
"Hey." You poke his shoulder, a bit awkwardly.
Mark startles, looking up at you before pulling his wired earphones out. "Hi. Can I help you?"
"You're friends with Chenle, aren't you?"
He nods, glancing at his phone that lights up before turning back to you. "Yeah. Is there a problem?"
"Oh, no." You shake your head. "I was just wondering, what room is he from?"
Mark's eyes narrow in on you. "Hold on… are you the one—"
"God, no." You clarify, waving your hands in front of him. "I forgot to take my USB out after using the printer. Someone told me they saw him taking it."
It's a lie, obviously, and you surprise yourself a little with how easily it slips out. The things you'd do for Yizhuo.
Mark stares at you for a few seconds like he’s weighing whether you’re telling the truth or just wasting his time. Then he shrugs, like whatever. “Alright. That makes sense. Chenle lives in 130 with Jisung. But he's in class right now, actually."
"Oh? I'm sorry, but it's kinda urgent. What class is he in?"
"Uh…" he trails off, scrolling on his phone to find the man's contact. "I'll ask him. The kid doesn't pay attention in any of his classes anyway."
You nod and awkwardly stand beside him while he waits for the reply. Pulling your phone out, you're met with a string of texts from Yizhuo asking if you got the job done. You type out a passive-aggressive 'not yet' followed by five rolling eyes emojis and mute her number temporarily.
Mark's feet tap on the ground rhythmically, probably along the tune of whatever he's listening to. After about a minute, he perks up.
"He's in Ethics in Journalism. C block. Says he doesn't have any USB, but he forgets stuff, so you should probably go and talk to him. He's almost done, so he'll be out by the time you reach."
You nod, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Ethics in Journalism sounds ironic for whatever you've heard about him. A blabber-mouth like him couldn't possibly be a good thing for journalism, could he?
You thank him, making Mark shrug before turning back to his textbook and putting his earphones back in.
The afternoon sun hangs high, casting short shadows across the cracked pavement as you make your way toward the main campus buildings. The familiar buzz of students rushing between classes fills the air—laughter, distant music, the occasional shout—but none of it reaches you today. Your mind is too busy rehearsing what’s about to happen.
Ahead, the modern brick facade of the journalism building rises into view, old and intimidating. You glance up at the small sign near the entrance: C Block, Communications and Media Studies.
The heavens seem to be slightly on your side today, for Zhong Chenle walks out just as you walk up to the entrance. You recognize him from the photos Yizhuo has showed you. Plus, you were told that if you saw anyone boring enough to be out and about wearing a Stephen Curry jersey, then that was your guy.
True to her word, Chenle wears a royal blue Golden State Warriors shirt, headphones slung around his neck and eyes on his phone as he skips down the steps, taking two at a time.
He glances up just as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, locking eyes with your waiting figure for a moment before pulling out one earbud. "Hey. Are you the girl that lost her USB?"
You blink, startled that he already knows. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.” You shuffle your feet, suddenly aware of how awkward this whole situation is.
Clearing your throat, you try to sound casual. “Listen, could we maybe, uh, go somewhere a bit more private? To talk?”
"About your lost USB?" Chenle laughs out, before smirking. "Dude, if you like me or something… I don't know, just say it here. I don't really care."
You scoff out of disbelief, crossing your arms. Somehow, he's already managed to irritate you. "Okay, stuck-up much? No. Listen, I didn't even know who you were until like, a day ago."
He nods slowly, like he finds your rambling amusing. "Sure."
"No, seriously. It's something important, so I'd appreciate if we went somewhere a little—" You look around at the influx of students that are leaving the building, "—less exposed."
He laughs again. It's an easy, contagious laugh that somehow makes you want to punch him and grin at the same time. “Fine, fine. Lead the way, mysterious USB owner.”
You take in a deep breath and start walking toward a quieter corner of the campus, away from the crowds milling between classes. Chenle trails behind, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the scene with that casual confidence that’s somehow both annoying and impressive.
The air feels cooler under the shade of the tall oaks, leaves rustling softly as you reach a bench tucked away near a side path. Chenle leans back against the bench, crossing his arms.
"You didn't even tell me your name? What's up, anyway?" He exhales loudly, throwing his head back and slouching in the seat.
You give him your name. He says it once, lazily almost before glancing at you. Somewhere on the way, he's put on black shades. You don't like how you can't see his eyes, but you continue anyway.
"So… about the notice that you put up in the dorm."
That makes him straighten up. Chenle almost squeals before fully turning his body to face you. He claps his hands once as he brings his leg up to sit on it, like this is some picnic that the two of you are having. "That was you? Oh my god, I can't believe that worked!"
"Yeah, so just—" you cut yourself off with a sigh, "please don't read it out on movie night?"
He smirks, tilting his head. “What were you thinking anyway? Love letters? Who even writes those anymore? Especially ones they immediately throw away? That’s some dramatic behaviour. You sure you weren’t drunk?”
You flush, eyes flicking away. “Okay, yeah. Drunk after exams. Tired and emotional. Can you just not make a big deal out of it?”
Chenle chuckles, a slow, teasing sound. “No promises, but—"
"Hey!" You retort. "You said you'd keep it hush if the person revealed themselves!"
"—Okay, okay. I will. I'll cut you some slack." He throws his hands up in defence.
You sigh, looking away. You don't even know this guy, but you already know that there's a but at the end of that sentence. "But what?"
"Only if you read it out to me right here."
Your mouth falls agape as you turn back to him. There's no way he's being serious about this.
"Come on." Chenle urges, the grin never leaving his face. "Be brave! It was fun to read on my own, but it would be even more hilarious coming from the writer herself."
"Dude, what the hell? This was not what you said on the notice."
"A man can change his mind. Come on, be quick." He shrugs as he pulls his bag forward, unzipping it to rummage through the loose papers dumped in it. "I have it in here somewhere."
"Do you not have people dedicating love letters to you? Is that why you want me to read it out, you sicko." You grumble, grabbing the letter from his hands.
It makes him laugh again, and you watch, a little dumbfounded at the way he throws his head back. You would hate to admit it, but there's something charming about the guy.
You shake your head, curse Yizhuo a thousand times before clearing your throat and holding the paper up. The edges crease where you grip the letter tightly. Chenle leans back, almost vibrating with excitement.
“To the one who makes my heart do somersaults,
Every time you walk into the room, it’s like fireworks explode inside me—bright, loud, and completely impossible to ignore. You’re the melody I hum in the shower, the warmth I crave on cold nights.”
You pause, blinking at the words like you can’t believe someone wrote this. Chenle snorts quietly behind his sunglasses.
You press on, cheeks heating despite yourself. Fuck Yizhuo, fuck that stupid little girl.
“I know I’m probably a mess right now—drunk on exams and bad decisions—but damn, I had to tell you. You’re the kind of beautiful disaster that makes my world spin faster and slower at the same time.”
Your voice cracks slightly on “beautiful disaster,” and you clear your throat.
“If loving you is a mistake, then I don’t want to be right. So here I am, a hopeless fool scribbling my heart out on paper, hoping maybe you’ll catch the fever too.”
There's about two more paragraphs left, but you fold the letter back up and look at Chenle with a face so full of pain that he almost pities you. You stand up, shoving the paper into one of your pockets and glare at the man who's barely managing to hold back his laughter.
"There. Done. Can you shut up about it now?"
He nods, lips still split into a shit-eating grin. "One last thing. Who was this even written to? And I swear I won't go around telling people."
You eye him suspiciously. What could possibly happen? As long as you make it out of this alive and as long as it isn't revealed that the actual writer was Yizhuo, you'll be fine.
"Junghoon." You state, pursing your lips. "You may not know him, he's in a different dorm."
"I think I've heard his name, yeah." Chenle nods, also getting up from the bench. "But damn, you were brave. I acknowledge and respect that, although I was hoping you'd be a no-show and I'd get to read it out."
You step away, throw up a sign heavily relying on your middle finger and turn around to walk back.
His giggles ring in your ear and you resist the urge to turn around and punch his stupid, infuriating, good-looking—no. No, just stupid and infuriating face.
"What a fucking sadist, really." You mutter to yourself, stomping across the footpath. "Well, at least it's over now."
The common room buzzes with the low hum of chattering students and the clatter of drinks and popcorn buckets being passed around. In the kitchen, you hear the RAs arguing about seating arrangements and the lack of beanbags that they've borrowed from the college club rooms.
The couches have been moved to the sides, and upon your insistence, the carpet has been replaced, so it isn't as much of a hazard to just sit on the ground anymore. Behind you, someone is setting up the projector and fiddling around with the size of the projection on the wall. Yizhuo has managed to catch hold of a bean bag big enough for the both of you to sit, and you have a thin but soft blanket, folded in your arms in case they decide to turn the air conditioning up like the theatres. There's nothing that could go wrong.
Or so you think.
Because half way through the opening credits, someone settles down on the ground beside your bean bag with a loud exhale, making you twitch and turn towards them to throw a stink-eye.
Chenle.
He shifts lazily, propping himself up on one elbow as his eyes settle on you.
Yizhuo stiffens beside you, fingers clutching the blanket a little too tightly. Her gaze flickers to Chenle with something close to disdain, and you catch the subtle but unmistakable chill radiating between them.
Chenle’s dark eyes flick over to Yizhuo for just a moment, a flash of mild annoyance crossing his face before he looks back at you.
"Where's loverboy?" he asks, low enough for only you and Yizhuo to hear it. She scoffs lightly and turns back to the movie. "Didn't invite him?"
You roll your eyes. "No. Why do you ask?"
"Just wondering." He shrugs with a smile, "I thought you'd be here cozying up to him instead of… Yizhuo."
"Shut up, Chenle." She grumbles from beside you.
"What is up with you two anyway?" You ask, straightening a little with curiosity.
"I was just better than her at everything."
"He's a stuck-up asshole." They both answer at the same time. You bite your lip to not let the smile show.
"Our mothers are friends." Chenle hums. "So we kind of grew up together, unfortunately."
You blink, caught off guard by the casual confession. “Oh wow, that explains a lot.” You glance between them, the familiar sibling-like banter oddly endearing, before turning to Yizhuo.
"So you don't actually hate him, do you?"
Yizhuo shoots him a glare, but there's traces of amusement in her eyes. "Yes, I do."
"She doesn't." Chenle scoffs, pointing his chin towards the movie. "Turn back around."
“So,” you say, nudging Chenle lightly, “are you here just to torment us, or do you actually like the movie?”
Chenle shrugs again, eyes twinkling. “A bit of both, honestly. Plus, I figured sitting here would be more interesting than wherever the hell I was before.”
Yizhuo groans beside you. You look behind, eyes catching on the group of six that are slowly settling down towards the back of the room. "Really? They do look like they'd be fun."
"Eh, at times." He admits, "But honestly, I'm also here to ask about your little crush."
"No." You reply sharply, and he only lets out a breathy laugh before settling into the side of your bean bag. It surprises you how easily he gets comfortable, but you don't mind—weirdly enough—and Yizhuo doesn't seem to either, so you let him be.
"You're interesting, actually." Chenle mumbles, eyes still on the wall. "How have we never met before?"
You blink at him, caught off guard by the honesty that’s so casually dropped between the flickering shadows of the movie. “I have no idea,” you say, voice low enough not to disturb the others, "but it's probably for a good reason anyway."
Chenle throws an irritated glance at you, scrunching his nose. "Your loss. I'm a really fun person to be around."
When you reply with a snort, he stretches his arms above his head, eyes still half on the screen but now relaxed, like the casual companion he somehow is tonight. “So, tell me,” he says, voice dropping to a teasing drawl, “how much of that letter was real, and how much was drunk poetry."
"Man, let it go." You groan, pushing back into your seat. "Everything was drunk poetry. I'm not usually like that."
Yizhuo pinches your thigh under the blanket with a laugh, and you have to force yourself to hold back and not expose her then and there.
"Okay, you know what. I'm nosy. Tell me about this guy."
"What are you going to do?" You roll your eyes, "Play wingman?"
"Hey," Chenle protests, "I could if I wanted to."
But still, you stiffen. Truth is, you barely know Junghoon beyond a few passing hellos in the dorm hallway and a handful of vague group chats. Your mouth opens to answer, but the words stick in your throat.
Before you can stumble over some awkward excuse, Yizhuo leans a little closer, her tone smooth but firm. “Junghoon’s alright. Quiet, keeps to himself mostly. Not much for the spotlight. Probably why you don’t really know him,” she says, eyes flicking to Chenle with a hint of challenge.
Chenle raises an eyebrow, smirking at the subtle jab but not pushing back. “Ooh, protective, huh? Nice.”
You shoot Yizhuo a grateful glance, silently thanking her for the rescue as Chenle nudges the conversation forward with a lazy grin. “Well, quiet types can be interesting. Mysterious. But if you don’t know him well, how do you even… like him?”
"I do know him," you protest weakly, "he's a nice guy. I wouldn't like him otherwise."
"So that's your type? Nice, quiet guys?" He hums. "Didn't expect that, lowkey."
"Guess so, yeah." You nod slowly. You hope you're a good liar, because the way Chenle seems to look right at you makes you feel like you aren't. "Focus on the movie, would you?"
Chenle chuckles, shaking his head like he’s amused by some private joke. “You’re good at dodging, I’ll give you that."
You bite your lip, trying to keep your expression neutral. He notices, maybe, because he shakes his head, his black mop of hair swishing around.
You palms roll up into fists under the blanket to resist from reaching out and running a hand through it.
Zhong Chenle. Who is this guy?
The laundry room smells strongly of detergent pods, a quiet refuge from the usual dorm chaos. You lean against the wall near the row of dryers, phone in hand, eyes half-watching the soft white numbers counting down.
Your laundry’s nearly done, and you’re just killing time, thankful for the rare moment to yourself, when the door swings open with a muffled creek and in stroll two people, one with a familiar voice.
"I swear to god, you need to ask one of us to make something for you or at least to teach you how to use kitchen appliances without making it a safety hazard for every one involved." Chenle lets out exasperatedly, dumping his laundry bag into one of the baskets.
The other boy—Jisung, whom you've heard of before from Yizhuo—whines lowly. It's a sound you don't expect to hear from a man of his height, his brows furrowed and feet stomping lightly on the tiles, so you almost let out a small laugh.
It catches Chenle's attention, and he whips around to meet your eyes. He waves with one hand, shooting a grin, the other hand busy stuffing his closed into the washing machine.
Jisung eyes you a little curiously, nodding once in acknowledgement before he turns back to his friend. "Get off my back, dude. It's not my fault the toaster seems to malfunction every single time I touch it."
"Are you hearing yourself right now?" Chenle scoffs. "Jisung someone had to call you out using the notice board. You realize how embarrassing that is for you?"
"You don't have to tell me." The taller boy grumbles. "It's okay. I'll go apologize later. At least I'm not ignorant like Mark was."
Chenle shakes his head, slamming the washing machine door shut. "Just ask, next time."
He glances over at you again, eyes sharp but friendly. "Why are you alone here? Where's the little devil?"
You sigh, slipping your phone back into your pocket. "She's bunked too many classes and is facing the consequences now. Studying in our room. Is this your roommate?" You ask, tilting your head at Jisung.
"The one and only," Chenle grumbles affectionately. "One hell of an idiot is a more apt description."
"Hi." Jisung waves awkwardly. "I've heard of you before."
You pointedly stare at Chenle, who simply shrugs.
"What can I say? He was the one that sat and watched me type the notice up. He's so non-committal, I tell you. Wants to know what happened but doesn't want to be directly involved."
"I don't want to be an ass like you." Jisung wraps an arm around his roommate's shoulder. "Being nosy isn't as big of a crime."
You exhale loudly just as the dryer beeps. "Hold on to that thought." You say as you turn back around to load the clothes into your bag.
"I don't judge, unlike him." Jisung points out, making you giggle.
"He wasn't too judgemental, I guess." You admit. "Although he did—wait, no. He was. He made me read out the letter to him."
Chenle's eyes glint as he leans slightly forward. "Well… I have to say, you have a really nice voice. Made the whole thing sound way better than I expected."
You pause for a moment, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment. A faint blush rises to your cheeks as you glance up at him.
"Is that your way of saying I should read more often?" you tease, folding your laundry with a sly smile.
Chenle shrugs, grinning. "Maybe. Or maybe I just like hearing you talk."
Jisung rolls his eyes but can’t hide the amused smile tugging at his lips. "Easy, there. She likes someone. Don't try to make moves on her."
It makes you laugh out loud despite yourself, and the smart retort that he was about to say dies on Chenle's tongue as he watches your palm come up to cover your mouth, your eyes crinkling before you turn away.
Why is he making moves on you? And worst of all, why do you not seem bothered by it?
"I'm not." He responds defensively, clearing his throat and shooting Jisung a look that clearly says shut the fuck up.
But he says nothing more, his attention fixed on you again. There’s a pause, the hum of the machines filling the silence.
“So,” you say absently, checking the number of clothes in your bag to make sure you left nothing, “what’s really got you so worked up about the kitchen?”
Chenle smiles. “Right, the toast is Jisung’s problem. I'm pretty good in the kitchen."
You look up at that, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "You can cook?"
"Why is that so surprising?" He asks, sounding slightly offended.
"I don't know…" You mumble, pulling the strings to close the bag. "You look—"
"Good? Yeah," he waves you off with a sly grin, "tell me something I don't know."
"—like you survive off Red Bulls and instant noodles." You finish with a light-hearted scowl. "Where do you get all that confidence from, really?"
"I am a good cook." Chenle replies, sounding like he's challenging. "If you don't believe me, you can see for yourself. Or rather, taste for yourself."
"He does make really good scallion oil noodles." Jisung admits airily, slightly zoned out of your conversation.
Chenle raises an eyebrow at you. "So?"
“Okay, chef,” you say, tugging the laundry bag over your shoulder. “You owe me a taste test. When and where?”
Chenle taps his chin thoughtfully. “How about this weekend? I’ll cook, you judge.”
You smile, feeling a spark of something unexpected but welcome. “It’s a date.”
He nods, stepping back with satisfaction and slight determination. Another thing you've heard about him from Yizhuo is that he's competitive. Almost to a fault. But maybe… maybe you like that.
As you gather your things to leave, Chenle calls out your name, like he's just remembered something. "You sure your quiet boy won't mind you eating with another guy?" He teases cheekily.
You groan. "I'm allowed to have friends, thank you."
When you leave, Jisung turns to his roommate with a grin. "Why the hell are you hitting on her, dude?"
"I'm really not, Jisung." He sighs, pushing the taller boy away. "Maybe you'd know if you ever managed to speak to a girl who was interested in you."
"Rude." He mutters, a little dejectedly. "She seems nice. She called it a date. Why would she do that?"
Chenle hums, looking up to let out a small noise of confusion before he brushes it off, already opening his notes app to make a checklist of ingredients.
The setting sun's rays slide in through the library’s tall windows, casting long stripes of pale gold and pink light across your cluttered table. You’re buried under textbooks and scattered notes. The faint smell of recycled paper from your notebook and the sickly sweet coffee from the canteen has begun to make you gag. Your eyes flick over the same sentence for the third time, but it refuses to stick.
You groan. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Yizhuo stretches beside you, cracking her neck like it’s been ages since she last moved. “Break. Now.”
You shove your stuff into your bag, following her out. The quad is alive with the buzz of students—laughter, conversations, a frisbee sailing somewhere in the distance. Yizhuo wanders over toward the basketball courts, where a small crowd has formed.
When the two of you finally make it past, she scoffs. "Of course, it's him. That little attention-seeker. Bet he's just showing off."
It takes you the first four words to figure out who she's talking about.
You spot Chenle easily—darting between players like he owns the court, the bounce of the ball synced perfectly with his steps. His bright blue jersey stands out, like a beacon daring anyone to challenge him. You watch him spin, dribble, and then launch the ball into the net with that effortless flick of the wrist that gets the crowd cheering.
Yizhuo snorts beside you, crossing her arms. “Typical. Full of himself.”
You can’t help but smile, even though you try to play it cool. “He’s good.”
“Yeah, but he’s also an annoying show-off.”
You shrug, shifting on your feet. “Maybe. But he makes it look good. I kind of get why people watch.”
Yizhuo raises an eyebrow. “Don’t get too soft on him now. You’re supposed to be focused.”
You huff out a breath, stealing a glance at Chenle again. His laugh is loud and easy, the kind that makes the whole court seem a little brighter. There's a lot about him that you didn't expect, and somehow, he just keeps catching you by surprise.
You turn your gaze back to the game, but something about the way the sunlight hits Chenle’s face makes you pause. His hair is tousled just enough to look effortless, and when he smiles—really smiles—it’s like the whole crowd fades out for a second.
You catch yourself watching the way his muscles tense as he dribbles, the way his eyes sharpen when he focuses on the basket. It’s not just the game. It’s him.
You clear your throat, suddenly aware that you’ve been staring a little too long. Yizhuo nudges you with a reluctant sigh. "Please don't tell me you think the rat is handsome."
Her words are so random that you laugh out loud, maybe a little louder than you intended. The noise catches Chenle’s attention. He looks around, eyebrows raised as if trying to figure out where it came from. Then his eyes settle on you.
A slow grin spreads across his face as he waves, calling out, “Hey! Watching the game or just here to make fun?”
You and Yizhuo exchange a quick glance before you wave back awkwardly. Chenle shrugs and turns back to the game.
But you notice something subtle. His next moves are a little sharper, a little more precise—not like he suddenly decided to play seriously, but like he’s enjoying the extra attention. There’s a flicker of something playful in his eyes whenever they flick back to where you sit.
Yizhuo watches him too and mutters, “Okay, what the fuck is he doing?”
You turn to face her, raising an eyebrow.
"Like he's clearly trying to impress you, or whatever. But why? He thinks you like someone else, doesn't he?" Yizhuo asks , eyes focused somewhere past the courts as she thinks.
"Unless…" She snaps her fingers before turning to you and gripping you by the shoulders. "Did you tell him the truth?"
"No," you argue, "why would I do that?"
Yizhuo sits back again. "Sorry, you wouldn't. That was a moment of weakness."
Shaking your head, you lean back with her and continue watching. After a few seconds of silence, she pipes up again.
"Then why in the world has he developed home-wrecking tendencies? Trying to flirt with a girl who's heart is technically taken."
You shrug, cheeks warming.
Yizhuo rolls her eyes and stands up, throwing her hands up. “Alright, I’m done. This is weird. Let’s bounce before he starts trying to throw in slam dunks or something.”
"He's going to cook for me this weekend, by the way." You inform her as the two of you leave the court, not before you throw a small wave at him.
Yizhuo stops in her tracks, jaw hanging slack in astonishment. "He's going to what?"
You shrug. "We were just talking about cooking and he said he was good and I didn't believe that. Think he took it as a sort of challenge."
"Oh my god. What the fuck. I'm going to tell him to back off."
"Hey!" You protest weakly, "let me make friends too."
Yizhuo shakes her head before smiling and looping her arm through yours. "Hmm honey, I don't think he wants to be your friend. But alright, he's not the worst person out there."
On Saturday morning, your phone buzzes with a series of texts.
Almost instantly, he replies.
Chenle (130)
hey 121
isn't the little devil out all afternoon today?
my mum said she's visiting home
You
yeah! i think her cousin is home.
You pause, considering it. The dorm kitchen is usually a hassle on the weekends, and your own room is much more calming. Your phone pings with another text before you can respond.
Chenle (130)
can i cook in your room then?
i mean i've already got the scallion oil ready in a jar lol
so really i only need to make the noodles but
Chenle (130)
i'd offer my room but
jisung cannot get his ass out of bed and he's clumsy and awkward
do you fw that energy?
You
poor him…
he's so sweet why are you mean to him
and yeah my room's fine. will clean up a little though, so let me know when you're coming around
You react with a thumbs-up and throw your phone onto your bed before staring at the mess that your room has become after Yizhuo spent the entire morning deciding on outfits.
Chenle (130)
in like half an hour or so?
You start picking things up slowly, trying not to overthink why your heart beats a bit faster at the thought of him walking through that door. It’s silly. You tell yourself it’s just noodles, just cooking. But there’s a strange warmth in your chest that you don’t bother naming.
Halfway through, you catch yourself smiling quietly at the floor, like you’re keeping a secret you don’t want anyone to find out about. It’s awkward and a little thrilling all at once.
Your phone buzzes, dragging you out of your thoughts.
Almost there. Hope you’re ready for the best noodles of your life.
You tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, cheeks warming just a little. Then, the soft knock on your door breaks the silence.
“Coming!” you call out, before shuffling over to the door.
When you open it, you're met with Chenle's dazzling face (as he says it himself) and a hand held out with a glass jar of scallion oil.
You take it with a small smile, your fingers brushing his just long enough to notice but not enough to care too much. Chenle steps inside, surveying your room with that familiar cocky grin.
“Nice setup,” he says, nodding toward your cluttered desk. “Looks like someone’s been pretending to study.”
You shoot him a side-eye. “Pretending? I’m multitasking.”
He laughs and pulls out the portable stove and pot from his bag like a pro. Watching him unpack, you settle on the floor nearby, arms crossed, trying not to look too interested.
“Hey, don’t think I didn’t see you stealing glances,” Chenle says without looking up.
You roll your eyes, smirking. “Please. I’m here for the noodles, not the show.”
He flicks a glance your way, amused. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”
Chenle sets the pot on the stove, the faint hiss of boiling water filling the quiet room. He moves with easy confidence, but you notice the brief flicker in his eyes when they meet yours—something softer, quieter, that he quickly hides behind a casual grin.
“So,” you say, folding your arms and leaning back against the bed, “how long have you been cooking like this?”
“Long enough,” he replies, stirring the noodles gently. “Used to watch my mum. She’s got this way of making simple stuff taste amazing.”
You hum thoughtfully. “Mums are always like that, aren't they?"
“Yeah, exactly.” He shrugs. “It’s all in the timing. Too long and they get soggy. Too quick and they’re hard.
You grin, clearly entertained. “And how much time did it take you to learn that, Mr. Zhong?"
He waves the chopsticks at you. "Almost none. I'm a pro."
The soft clatter of the chopsticks, the gentle bubbling of the water, the quiet comfort of the room—it all feels strangely calming.
“So,” you say after a moment, “do you always cook for people? Or is this just a special occasion?”
He pauses, glancing at you briefly before turning back to the noodles. “I don’t know. I guess... I like it. The cooking part, and maybe the hanging out part too.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Just maybe?”
Chenle laughs quietly, shaking his head. “Okay, maybe more than just maybe.”
You grin, leaning back on your hands. “I’m starting to think you might actually enjoy my company.”
“Don’t get too full of yourself,” he teases. “I enjoy a lot of things.”
But the smile he gives you feels softer, like it’s meant just for you. You don’t press it, just watch as he slides the noodles into a bowl, topping them with a generous drizzle of the scallion oil.
Chenle sets the bowl down in front of you, and you reach for your chopsticks, smacking your lips in anticipation. You wait for him to settle down in front of you with his own bowl.
“So, what’s the verdict?” he asks, eyes bright.
You take a bite, the warm noodles slipping easily between your chopsticks, the scallion oil fragrant and rich. “Not bad,” you say, “for someone who claims to be a pro.”
Chenle grins, watching you carefully. “Told you."
As the conversation flows—bits of teasing, shared stories about family dinners and awkward kitchen mishaps—Chenle’s gaze drifts to you, not just hearing your words but noticing the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh, how easy it is to be here, like this, just talking and eating.
He thinks about how simple it feels, this rhythm between you two. No pressure, no pretence. But beneath that ease, a quiet ache presses at him.
You like someone else. He knows he’s not the one you want. And that knowledge stings, sharper than he lets on. Yet, despite that, he finds himself here. Choosing to be near you, drawn by something he doesn’t quite have the words for yet.
Chenle wipes his face lethargically with a towel, sweat dripping down onto the concrete ground as him and Jisung leave the courts, duffels hanging on their shoulders.
"Hey." Jisung nudges his elbow, nodding towards a bench near the quad. "Remember you were asking who Junghoon was? That's him."
Chenle follows his gaze and freezes. “Wait… what the hell is Yizhuo doing sitting practically on top of him?”
Jisung shrugs. "Beats me. I've seen them hanging out a lot, but I assumed that was how 121 and him met."
"Yeah, bullshit. She's sitting way too close for him to just be a friend." Chenle scowls.
"Hey, be glad. If they have something going on, that just means your chances with 121 increased."
Chenle laughs, but it’s tight, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Shut up."
He watches as Junghoon leans in closer, Yizhuo laughing way too loud, her hand brushing against his arm in a way that makes Chenle’s stomach twist in pain for you. Do you know about this? Why would Yizhuo do this to you? He thought you guys were inseparable.
It’s dumb. He knows it’s dumb to care this much. But the heat rising in his chest says otherwise.
Jisung claps him on the shoulder. “Come on, man, time to hit the showers before you start inventing conspiracy theories.”
Chenle grumbles but follows, his mind buzzing with half-formed thoughts.
Shower steam and hot water usually help clear his head, but not tonight. When he steps out, he’s still chewing on the scene, replaying it like a bad song stuck in his brain.
Pulling on a hoodie, Chenle grabs his phone and calls you before putting it on speaker.
You pick up on the fourth ring. He hears a little shuffling before your voice comes through in a whisper. "Hey? What's up. Sorry, I'm in the library."
"Which one?" Chenle asks, dropping his phone onto the bed and already pulling on the first pair of socks he can find.
"Uhm, the one near the engineering department." You inform, albeit a little confused. "Why? Are you going to study as well?"
"Uh—" Chenle mutters from the corner of his room as he slips into his shoes, "yeah, kind of. Stay there, I'm coming soon."
You say goodbye quietly. Chenle pulls his hood over his head and begins the short walk over to the engineering department. The street lamps are beginning to switch on, and the cool air hits his face, sharp and clear, but it doesn’t clear the clutter in his mind.
He just cannot wrap his head around it all. Chenle's known Yizhuo like you would an annoying sibling, and if there's anything, she would never do that to you. But he's seen it with his own two eyes. Why would Yizhuo go for the guy you liked?
The library door swings open with a quiet creak as he slips inside. The familiar smell of old books and polished wood settles over him, and he spots you almost immediately—head bent low over a pile of notes, your hair falling in soft waves that catch the light just right.
He stops short, blinking. There’s something about the way you look right now—soft, tired, and completely unguarded—that catches him off guard. His chest tightens in a way he hasn’t expected, a strange ache that makes him want to reach out and brush that loose hair from your face.
Before he can overthink it, he clears his throat, making you look up. Your eyes meet his, and there’s a flicker of surprise before you break into a small, tired smile.
“Hey,” you mumble when he nears you. "What are you planning to work on?"
Just as he's about to answer, Yizhuo emerges from the shelf behind you two, balancing the three thickest books he's seen in his life in her hands before dropping it onto the table, beside you. She huffs out, blowing the baby hairs away from her face, and Chenle controls the urge to lash out at her then and there when he sees the way you smile at her antics, eyes softening in affection.
“Hey,” he replies, voice rougher than he means it to be. "Don't know. I'll see."
Chenle slides the chair out noisily and lowers himself beside you, his gaze flicking briefly to Yizhuo, who’s still bustling about, her energy loud and bright in contrast to the quiet library. She shoots him a grin and waves before retreating back toward the stacks, leaving him alone with you.
He watches you for a moment, then without really thinking, he slides his chair a little away and pulls yours toward him without much warning. You startle with a gasp, looking at him incredulously. "What the—"
"Can we talk?" His voice is low, barely above a whisper.
You blink up at him, surprise flickering in your eyes, but you nod, pushing your notes aside and lean in close enough that he can smell the faint hint of your shampoo and feel the warmth radiating from you.
Chenle clears his throat, suddenly not knowing how to break the news to you. He glances around, making sure that Yizhuo isn't in the vicinity before talking.
"Don't freak out, but I saw Yizhuo with… Junghoon a little while ago." He studies your face carefully, and is slightly perplexed when you give away nothing. "They were being kinda touchy, I don't know. Not the way friends act."
"Yeah? Okay.” Your tone is casual, like it’s nothing important.
Chenle blinks, a bit thrown off by your reaction. “You’re not... bothered?”
You shake your head slowly. “No. Him and Yizhuo know each other and are friends. I don't really mind.”
He lets out a frustrated noise. "Listen, I know it's not my place and you probably believe her more than me, but I swear that the way they were acting was not appropriate. Aren't you bothered that your friend may be hitting on your crush?"
There’s a beat of silence between you two. Then something clicks in your mind, and your eyes widen just a little as you realise you’re supposed to care.
Chenle watches this shift with quiet surprise and much more confusion than he'd walked in with.
"It's okay," you wave him off, "it's nothing. Don't worry. She would never do that."
He watches with thinly veiled disbelief as you turn back to your textbook. Maybe you're just… much more open-minded than he thought you were. Maybe he's just reading too much into it—letting his feelings get the better of him because he's started to care more than he should
The next day, you find Chenle waiting for you outside your building when you walk out of class. He doesn't say anything, and only drags you—fingers wrapped gently around your wrist—to the same bench you sat at when you first met.
He sits you down, pays absolutely no regard to the confusion on your features and sits down next to you before removing the sunglasses he's wearing.
"I’ve been thinking,” he states confidently, “like… the entire night, actually.”
You glance up, brow raised, but he doesn’t waste time.
“The only thing that makes sense,” Chenle continues, “is that you lied. You came in place of Yizhuo.”
Your eyes flicker in surprise before he goes on. “Remember when I asked you about Junghoon? You didn’t have anything to say. If you liked someone, you’d probably mention him a bit more, right? But I’ve literally never heard you talk about him.”
"And in the short while that I've known you, it's become very obvious, if I think about it, that you are not the type to write love letters and cringey poems to someone. Like, that's Yizhuo's territory. Why didn't I think of her before?"
You open your mouth to protest, but he holds up his palm and continues anyway.
"And she was the one who spoke about him during the movie night. You just sat and nodded along!" He exhales with exasperation. "On top of that, you didn't even care when I told you about that entire ordeal yesterday. And I know that Yizhuo is one stupid girl, but she would never do that to a friend, no matter how much of a fucking devil she is."
Chenle's gaze sharpens in on you. "And you let me in your room, let me cook for you, and did not push me away when I lowkey flirted with you, so there's no way you like Junghoon. And you're the only one who would do the little devil's dirty work for her." He pauses, glancing away with annoyance, "What a coward, she is."
"Chenle—" you try to interrupt, in vain. "You've got it all—"
"So here's my final theory." He interrupts, placing his palm on your lips to stop you. You swallow, eyes widening in surprise. "Yizhuo likes Junghoon, wrote the letter when she was drunk and was stupid enough to get caught. She freaked out, asked you to go in her place, and you being the sweetheart that you are, agreed. And thus, you've been lying to me."
He watches you for a long moment, until you feel vulnerable enough to give up and nod under his gaze. With a triumphant fist pumping into the air, Chenle lets his palm drop from your face.
"I'm sorry," you mumble, looking away.
He turns to you immediately, heart sinking. "Hey, no. I mean, that was a dirty move, but I'm not upset. Don't worry. Just slightly confused and overall shocked that I didn't figure out sooner."
You nod, cheeks warming. "Yeah, I do not like the guy… Don't even know him that well."
Chenle bobs his head up and down, unable to stop the grin that stretches his lips. Your eyes narrow.
"Why do you care so much anyway?"
His smile drops a little before he brings a hand up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, um." He looks away for a beat, then meets your gaze again, a little softer this time. "Isn't it kinda obvious that I'm like…into you?"
His honesty catches you off guard, and you look away, letting the wind brush your hair onto your face to hide the colour rising up your cheeks. "I don't know… I guess so."
"Okay, um. Well, I like you. And I was a little bummed because I thought you liked that guy or whatever, but clearly you don't. So can we…" Chenle trails off as he gets up from the bench to look at you.
"Start over?" You mumble.
"Yes, exactly." He grins, reaching a hand out.
You grab it and stand up along with him, and he lets it fall between the two of you. "This time, Yizhuo stays the fuck away from us."
You laugh softly at that, the tension breaking like a snapped rubber band.
“Deal,” you say, your smile returning, bright and a little mischievous. "But only if you promise not to blow up on her."
Chenle shrugs, clearly amused. “No promises. Do you really not agree with my nickname for her? It's perfect.”
"She's an angel to me," you quip cheerily, swinging his hand slightly. "Okay, okay, wait. Do we do it like the movies?"
Chenle clears his throat and lets your hand go. He brushes a hand through his hair and falls one step back before shoving his hand in your face.
"I'm Zhong Chenle. I'm a sport journalism major, I live in room number 130 and I'm like, kinda sorta into you."
You nod solemnly, biting back a laugh before shaking his hand and telling him your name. "Good to know. I agree with you."
Chenle quirks an eyebrow. “Well, that was surprisingly formal for two people who basically just admitted to crushing on each other.”
You grin, bumping his shoulder lightly. “Hey, gotta keep it professional. Can’t just spill feelings like that."
He laughs, then steps closer, lowering his voice a notch. “So does this mean I can actually take you out on a date that we don't spend pretending we're into other people?"
You smirk, folding your arms. “Depends. What are your negotiation skills like, Mr. Zhong?"
He pretends to think hard, tapping his chin exaggeratedly. “I’m pretty good, if I say so myself. Especially when the prize is dinner with you.”
You roll your eyes but your smile widens. “Okay, I’ll hold you to that.”
꒰ synopsis ꒱ all hopes were crushed when you realized there was no way to get close to your crush, choi beomgyu. your advances to get close to him never seemed to work. so, you decided to get closer to his best friend, heeseung, by joining the broadcasting club. but as scripts change, so do crushes, and you end up falling for his best friend instead.
▸ auditions are open . . . !
ㅤ❕MATCHMAKER ── crush bsf ! heeseung x reader
fast forward ⃕ [ genre ] : written, fluff, angst, 90s au, unrequited love
meet the members ! beomgyu, gaeul, jungwon, taehyun, juyeon [more tba.]
warnings 𖧷 [only in this scene] unrequited love, yn kinda uses hee, thats all I think
ㅤhe's a real catch ▹ est. 2OK ❨ 이희승 ❩ ⌗ catch adore you here!
⌕ [ archives ] one result found . . . hi (still on hiatus kinda) js came here to post the fic teaser :D (im prolly gna post this after mocks or after my igcses) also ty @yenqa sewlmate for writing the synopsis (ly dookie) send an ask or comment to be added in the taglist !
THE FALL OF NINETEEN-NINETY SIX MARKED A PIVOTAL MOMENT IN YOUR LIFE. Ever since you came into the world, you never really could grasp the concept of love.
You wrapped your head around the myths and tales your mother would read to you every night. You thought that every princess would have her own shining knight in armor. So, after thirteen years of living, where was yours?
Your knight in shining armor, or knights in shining armor, existed within the pages of the comic books you read. You often wondered if they would magically pop out of your books and transport you into their world. Similarly, you wondered whether any of the characters from your adored TV shows would step out and bring you into their lives.
So, it wasn't a surprise when your jaw dropped to the ground as you saw the most beautiful man in your life (well, technically, boy). If the epitome of beauty was a fourteen-year-old boy, it would be Beomgyu.
But it wasn’t just his face that made your thirteen-year-old self swoon over him, it was also the way he acted. You loved the way he conversed, his smooth way of talking at a young age and the way he smiled at you every time he made jokes with his friends. You loved how his eyes lightened every time he’d pull a silly prank.
But the problem was, he never talked to you. You admired him from afar. You never actually had the guts to talk to him, as if. You were content with watching his funny actions from a distance.
There were some moments when you pushed aside your nervousness and talked to him. You remember having butterflies in your stomach the moment you first talked to him. There were times when you both were paired up as project partners for a biology assessment and at that moment, you swore you could’ve worshiped the floor that your biology teacher walked on due to her giving you an opportunity like this.
You knew this was an opportunity to make your move. And you did. You brought him small snacks with little notes on them. Gave him gifts regularly. Maybe even took lessons from your best friend on how to subtly flirt with him. You really thought you had him. Because whenever you used to play out these little acts, you saw the subtle smile on his face. You were so close. It’s like the universe laid it out for you. Gosh, how lucky you were!
Luck. The luck that you thought you had. If luck was a person, you would’ve tackled it to the ground already. Because the day you were about to confess to him was the day he announced his new girlfriend.
His first girlfriend. You doubt you called it ‘love’ since the only thing she cared about was that he was popular and pretty. That’s it! All that girl could get from Beomgyu was his looks and his reputation. You could’ve scoffed at the sight.
Beomgyu was so much more than that. He was loyal, kind, and trustworthy. And she went for his looks. Even though she had him, you felt as if she was missing out on so much. You were partly sad due to them getting together and also due to Beomgyu getting used to his looks.
So, you were practically prancing when you heard the news of their breakup a month later. Did you care that Beomgyu was absolutely heartbroken? Well, yes, but you felt relieved that Beomgyu was finally unleashed from that mean troll's wrath.
And as he got older, he grew more handsome. And God did you love it. When you entered high school he was a completely different person. He had gotten more flirty and way more pretty. He was way out of your league.
Out of the years you were in this crappy high school, you made absolutely no improvement in your and Beomgyu’s relationship. Beomgyu, who kept getting new flings every summer and tons of situationships seemed to discard your existence. One could only say ‘What the fuck?’
Your thoughts swirled, and you had a collection of emotions roaming around your head until your best friend jolted you back into reality with a gentle nudge on the shoulder.
“Are you even listening?” Seori’s voice cut through your thoughts, annoyed, since she had to explain what she was talking about in the first place.
“Sorry, what were you saying?” You blinked, focusing your attention on your best friend.
She sighs, “I was saying that I think Doyoung is going to ask me out.” Seori pouts “Why does he not get that I don’t like him that way, jeez.”
Her ramble about her current boy toy washed out in the background. You were once back in your thoughts until you saw him heading into the cafeteria. Beomgyu entered the cafeteria, his smile widening at something his best friend said.
Lee Heeseung, Beomgyu’s best friend. His ride or die. As long as you can remember, they were attached to the hip. They were basically the package deal. If Beomgyu was the life of the party, Heeseung would hold up his hair while he threw up in the host’s toilet. While Beomgyu was the exact depiction of a social butterfly, Heeseung remained aloof, keeping people at arm’s length. You could only wonder how he dealt with Beomgyu’s outbursting personality.
“Earth to Yn!” Seori snapped her fingers in front of your face which once again, brought you back to reality.
“Sorry.” You sheepishly smiled looking at your best friend's annoyed face. Your friend followed the gaze you had fixed before looking over to her. And her eyes followed the trail of your alleged ‘man’–– Beomgyu.
“Him again.”A sigh erupted from Soeri, having enough of your rambling over your four-year-old crush.
“I’m sorry, alright!” You pouted, your back hunching over the disappointing development between you two which was nowhere to be found. “He’s just so cute, God!”
Your sigh was followed by your best friend. Not long after, your best friend’s fed-up expression converted into a rather eager one.
“I got it!” She exclaimed, her hand hitting your back while she practically screamed. You winced in pain as a few fellow students gave you judgemental stares.
“All you have to do is be close with his best friend, Lee Heeseung.” She slowly said, almost like a mastermind coming up with a villainous plan–well, you would consider your best friend to be some sort of evil criminal.
But this, this opened new angles in your head. It felt like the universe–or more like your best friend–laid it out for you again. Your once unsolvable puzzle showed a new direction, and the missing piece was all in front of you.
Okay, maybe you felt bad that you were going to use Heeseung like that, even looking forward to it. But, you were really desperate. To the point where you would actually be eager to attend Sunday mass just to ask God for Beomgyu to like you back or even spare one glance at you. Well, what could you do?
Out of excitement, you pulled Seori in for a hug with a squeal while giving her a kiss on the cheek which she in return, yelped. “Seori, you’re a genius!”
“Yes, I know.” She laughed a bit, escaping your tight grip on her before wiping the spot you kissed her hastily with her hands.
“I mean, how hard could it be?”
You smiled and your gaze wet up to the boy you loved for most of your life, then slowly to the equally handsome boy.
"I love you. In every version of time. And even if nature won't allow us to end together… I'm so glad we began."
Pairing. Chenle x reader ft Jaemin; Jeno
Synopsis. Two different timelines, two different people, but one forbidden love story. In the future year of 2027, Chenle loses you to death, and in his grief, he can’t move on. He’ll do anything to bring you back… even if it means cloning you. In the past year of 1637, you lose Chenle to death, and in your sorrow, you’d cross any line to see him again… even if it means stepping into the future to do something unforgivable. But when you arrive, he’s already found a version of you. Now, in a time that doesn’t belong to you, with a love that still feels like yours — you have to decide: Will you finish your mission? Or steal the life that was never meant to be yours?
Genre. Time travel. Long shot. Forbidden romance. Angst.
Trigger warning. Mentions of witch.
(BACK TO THE FUTURE: CHILLER STORIES MASTERLIST)
Future present: 2027
"I wanna know, know, know, know... what is love?"
Chenle still remembers the note you hit... off-key and loud, when you sang that line in the karaoke room. It wasn't perfect, not even close, but something about it etched itself into his memory. Maybe it was the way you looked at him while singing, eyes full of laughter, peace, and something else... something whole. That was the moment he first felt his heart skip. Not in the clichéd way people describe, but like it genuinely missed a beat trying to catch up with yours. You were radiant. So blissfully happy, singing off-tune but with such conviction that the melody didn’t matter. You were the music.
You had just finished high school with no intention of chasing degrees. Your heart had already chosen a path, one with the earth and nature, meditative arts. You built something beautiful from that passion: a sanctuary of calm where people could breathe, be still, and be themselves. You didn't just lead classes, you held safe spaces, you created peace. And somehow, you turned it into a living, into a purpose. Into your brand.
Chenle, on the other hand, had gone deep into the world of advanced science. His days were filled with data and theory, until the terrible car accident which left him with pain. The pain was physical, yes, but the emotional weight of it scared him more. He hated the idea of needing help. So he avoided therapy. But every morning from his window, he'd watch you. Leading your classes in the park. Moving with such grace, such ease. You didn't know it, but you were helping him long before he ever walked into your session.
He joined your class because you were cute. He stayed because you were healing.
And over time, slow mornings, shared drinks, silly jokes, deep talks under half-finished moons, you fell into each other. Maybe it was fast... maybe- but it didn't feel reckless. It felt like falling into the exact place you were meant to be. He proposed. You said yes. It was love. It was undeniable. You had a small ceremony with family.
You cherished each other. You laughed like it was sacred. You built a life. And then came your daughter, tiny, perfect, yours. You held her first, kissed her first, taught her her first hums and sighs. Everything was golden...
Until that one night. You went to sleep beside him. Peacefully. And you never woke up.
One would think that by the year 2027, a machine would've been invented to mimic a mother's love, her warmth, her intuition, her ability to soothe a crying child with nothing more than a heartbeat and a hum. There are smart cribs, voice-activated monitors, A.I toys that can detect and respond to emotion, but none of them hold a candle to the real thing. And right now, a 24 year old Chenle could really use that machine... or he'd rather have you back.
The crying won't stop.
Chenle gets up gently patting the back of the little infant wondering 'what could it be this time?'. Maybe she needs her milk. Or a new diaper- no he did that a minute ago.
"It's okay sweety, don't cry, don't cry," he mumbles hastily walking to some formulas that were mixed. Reading becomes a struggle as the words on the bottle don't make sense- "Where is the new one- shh- shhh - please Zozo just wait- please stop crying-" Chenle gets fidgety as the baby gets restless in his arms. Tiny arms getting stiff and legs flinging around.
His arms shake when he finally adjusts her in the correct feeding position while balancing the bottle in her mouth. But her lips don't suckle around the tip. Instead. In an annoying pitched wail. She continues to cry out. Her breathing is non existent at some point as she prepares for her next rounds of tantrums.
"Zozo please." Chenle begins to bob the baby girl up and down- still with the bottle in her mouth- as he sings and walks across the living room. "She won't stop crying. I don't know what to do- I don't-"
He finally caves and yells out. In that moment, Chenle knows, he's not cut out of this. Not by himself. He puts the baby down on the floor- where she can't hurt herself and storms to the kitchen.
The first tear lands in the empty sink.
His knuckles turn white, grip tight on the platform. He tries to control his breathing- the tears streaming silently down his face, the crying in the background becomes louder and his hands already ready to rip apart the entire house. The counting doesn't help anymore, it doesn't calm him down - only makes him angry. And before he can even stop himself- his voice is raised, rage spitting out and hatred in his eyes. "Shut the fuck up! What're crying for? Shut up Zhuó- just shut up!"
Now the baby hiccups. Her tiny face red. Coughing. But still crying.
"Zhuó! Zhuó! Shut up! Please!"
He can't even pick her up. His own tears pouring out - hand balled into tight fists gripping his hair, feet walking back and forth- thoughts all the same. Wanting to kill himself so that he doesn't have to deal with her. But in his heart, he knows he's being selfish. How can he think of killing himself when she needs him? When she needs him the most- especially after your death? Chenle shakes his head, the memory of you- the image of you- the thought of you rendering him weak. He falls to his knees, a cry escaping his throat. He shuts his puffy eyes, sniffing and holding back his strangled cries. Even though you were gone for three days, Chenle still saw it like it was yesterday.
Your figure beside him. Not moving. Not breathing. He brushed it off - because you looked so peaceful. Little did he know that you were literally... at peace... for good.
"You were right there..." Chenle fades in his own cry, wheezing and clutching his chest. "Peaceful... how could you- leave..."
Like a car crush- Chenle is up on his feet in a flash and speed runs to his wailing daughter on the floor. "I'm here Zozo, I'm here." He carefully picks her up, holding her close to his chest- not too close in order not to hurt her- but close enough to let her know that he's there. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Daddy is being a bitch. I know I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. "
Zhuó- having finally ran dry of tears, settles to a nap after Chenle walks around for nearly an hour. He doesn't put her down. His thoughts shut off, allowing himself only to feel the tender life in between his arms. He picks up his phone while Zhuó sleeps soundly in his arms. The silence feels heavier than her tiny weight. Thoughts resurface, sharp and unrelenting: How am I supposed to do this without you? You were a natural with Zhuó. She adored you. He adored you. But you weren’t here anymore. His thumb hovers over a familiar number. He hesitates, wondering if he should end the call before it even begins. But right now, this is the only thing that makes sense. He can't lose you—not really. And if what he’s about to do is unethical, he no longer cares. He'll do anything to bring you back.
"Hey, Jeno." The line finally connects. Chenle's voice cracks. "I need your help."
"Anything," comes the calm reply. Jeno, also known as Doctor Lee Jeno, is a leading scientist in advanced biology. Chenle had studied under him in university, even interned at his lab, where Jeno's groundbreaking research in cellular regeneration and cloning blurred the lines of possibility.
Chenle swallows hard. "Can I… present my wife, Y/N, as a subject?" His voice trembles. "The private doctor said she died in her sleep. Natural causes. But I can't—" his breath catches, a sob breaking through. "I can't accept it." His grip tightens around the phone. "I need you to make a clone of her. Please."
-
Past Present: 1637
"You are not like the others. Never show yourself."
Those were the words you carried through childhood like a second heartbeat. It wasn't a warning, but a command... softly spoken, yet sealed into you bones from the moment you first understood fear. From the moment you were born, you knew, something in you was different. You didn't need anyone to tell you, but you could just feel it. The ground beneath your feet pulsed when you walked. The wind shifted when you breathed. You were never alone, not really. The earth was always with you. Watching. Whispering. Teaching.
Nature didn’t just surround you; it knew you. Your mother gave you life. Your father gave you truth. But it was the world around you—root and leaf, water and sky—that raised you. Whispered to you. You could feel it in the soil, in the wind, in the way the trees leaned closer when you were near. At first, you thought it was a game, your own secret superpower.
You remember a day so clearly. The rain was relentless, soaking through your uniform as you ran home. Cold, tired, desperate to just be dry for once, you shouted, "Stop!" And it did. Not all around... just over you. The sky kept weeping, but not a single drop touched your skin. You looked up. Watched the rain bend and scatter around you like it knew you.
That was the first time you felt it—real power.
You told your father. Because you trusted him. Because some part of you wanted him to tell you it was normal. That you were safe. But instead, he smiled, like he had been waiting. "You're a witch."
He said it like a secret prayer. Like something sacred.
From then on, he trained you in quiet moments. Lessons hidden between laughter and routine. He masked them well, your mother and brothers, Jaehyun and Jungwoo, never questioned it. They thought he was teaching you old traditions. Odd games. But you knew better.
You weren't just learning. You were awakening.
And when your father wasn't teaching... nature was. The trees bent toward your voice. The rivers hummed when you were near. What your father didn't explain, the world around you did. You didn't need books. You just needed to listen. You didn't just draw from nature—you were one with it. Power lived beneath your skin. It was beautiful.
And it was a shame. Because you were born in a time where witches were forbidden.
You remember the stench of burning flesh. The way the witch’s screams rang out across the emperor’s courtyard. You were just a girl, hidden between your father and uncle, watching a woman who could have been you turned to ash. All for what she was. Your father didn't say much after that.
He falls into step beside you as you walk back. "Being a witch doesn’t give you the right to do whatever you want," he says, his tone firm but calm. "There's dark magic, and then there's pure magic— the kind we practice. I don't ever, ever... want to catch you using dark magic, drawing power from places you don't understand. Most witches who get caught... It's because they revealed themselves. And nature always deals with them. Promise me never to upset nature and the balance of things. Otherwise they'll only be pain in your future."
You nod, meeting his gaze. "I won't. Father."
And you listened. But now, as you grow, stronger, wiser, hungrier, you know something else, too: You weren't made to stay hidden forever. You have this magic for a reason...
The year is 1637, in the Ming Dynasty, home to the wealthy and hell to the lowly. People with differences unable to settle and live together in harmony, hence the slave hierarchy. The eldest daughter of lowly homes being put up for work in order to support her family with something to get by. Once you turned 18, you were auctioned amongst crowds of wealthy men and families from posh backgrounds.
The only reason you were on the auction list, was because your father never showed himself. He always told you, if you want to live a good life and not burn - keep your head down. But in you, you knew that your life was more than... being a slave for some posh wealthy person.
You stood for 3 days as your auctioneer rounded you, serving out your impressive traits. Your auctioneer, also known as your uncle, Uncle Suh, wondered why your charms and beauty failed to keep the men who watched interested and engaged. Time means nothing to you when you're a witch. Standing tall, eyes fixed on gazes that 'lust' and casting a spell with a whisper for 'interested' men to walk away.
You didn't want to be sold to some bum and clean for all your life. In your mind, you were higher then all of them. Nothing could make you settle for less...
Until him.
Zhong Chenle.
Twenty-three. Crowned by birth. Raised to be praised, worshiped... desired. The Emperor’s son.
Standing under the heat, sun pressing onto the bare of your back creating sun burn, your uncle roaming around speaking - not only about your traits but the other first borns of other lowly families in line with you. Your uncle had always been successful at selling of young people- because he was also like you; a male witch, a warlock, so he always made a fortune- there was never a day whereby he didn't sell ALL his subjects- until you of course.
However today is a new day, small crowds turned to large groups of people from different places. Decorations filling up the usually small canvas area with so much to dazzle the eye with. Your eyes shun away from anyone who looks at you, but the whole time your eyes are spent on with the emperor's son, the Prince, Zhong Chenle. Word has it, he's looking for a wife. But of course here, he's looking for a maid.
You see his servants, close by, giving him the space and distant to walk through the booths, as several give him the space to do so. He walks up to Uncle Suh's table booth. You're standing high with 4 other girls. The emperor's son tilts his head high, gleaming brown eyes catching the sunlight just right as he wonders from eye to eye- until yours.
No words are shared. You stare him down- unlike the others who looked away because of his title and position, he's the emperor's son. You can hear Uncle Suh giving special attention to the prince, "Ryujin, known for her strong arms can lift up to 7 tiny grown men-" trying to sell off the others because he knows there's no luck in your corner.
However your lip tilts upwards when you know the emperor's son is enticed by you.
"I'll have her,"
Any other day, the words would scorch a bitter taste in the pits of your stomach, yet today the words are like a crown of victory over your head. Uncle Suh is shocked, he glances over at you, eyes narrowing when he suddenly gets it.
"Ah, but you see," Uncle Suh motions to you. "She's already on... she's already been bought."
"I'll pay higher." Is all the Prince says, before he gives you one more look and then goes on his way.
You look down chuckling a little. Uncle Suh turns you around, removing the ropes from your wrists. "You're not ready for this." he mutters, but you could care less. "For 3 days you rejected potential, wealth and good men. And now, today you chose to bewitch the prince? It's not going to play out in your favour." he finally cuts the rope and you smile politely.
"Except I didn't use my magic Uncle Suh."
He scoffs. "Don't forget you're still a maid."
"I'll be sure to remember that from the Prince's palace." you turn around with a coy amused smile, a servant from the Prince helps you down and then places a silver bracelet over your wrist. You take one last look at Uncle Suh. Payments seem to have already been made, because by the look of the hefty sack in his hands, he's now smiling at you.
"Don't get caught." he mouths lowly, but you hear it, as the wind carries his voice to you.
This is it, your new life begins, as a maid servant to the Prince. Your family; mother, father and two older brothers, Jungwoo and Jaehyun will be very proud of you. You get in line behind 2 other ladies, following behind the Prince.
You can already picture it: palace robes, early duties, a quiet kind of order. You've cooked and cleaned your whole life — but never for fools who saw you as nothing. If the Prince were to devalue you, at least it would be from inside the palace. That, in itself, would mean you were worth choosing. He walks slowly, moving from booth to booth, studying faces, selecting carefully. It's obvious, though no one says it, he's not just looking for staff. He's preparing for a future wife. But first, he needs to prove he can care for a household, manage a team, play the part of a ruler.
When the choosing ends, you sit in the back of the wooden wagon with the other maids. You smile, polite and unreadable. Even the wagon is elegant. Four white horses lead it gently toward the palace. You don't care about becoming a princess. You just want a life beyond survival, one that finally feels like yours.
The palace is spotless, brick by brick, stone by stone. Towering and vast, it swallows you whole the moment you arrive. Prince Chenle says nothing. He steps from his private carriage and vanishes into the palace, leaving the rest of you in the hands of the emperor's personal first attendant. Tasks are assigned quickly. You're told this is a trial. One day to prove your worth. Fail, and you're sent back without a second glance.
"You," the attendant says when she reaches you. Her eyes sweep your frame, not kindly. You try not to persuade her with your magic. You simply wait to see if you like what she says. "You look like a specialty servant." You keep your face calm. Not eager. Not cold. Just ready. "You'll be assigned to Irene. Candle and lamp duty."
No time to question it. Another woman, younger, but sharper, appears at your side. "Follow," she says. You obey. She walks fast. Speaks faster. "You'll light and maintain the palace lamps, mostly at night. Specialty means high risk. You were chosen because of your face. That's your pass. But one mistake, one curtain set on fire or you decided to burn this whole place down. You will be sentenced to death for attempt at murder."
You believe her. Every word.
Still, you survive the day. Two girls are already gone by sundown. The next week is filled with training, laundry, tea service, etiquette drills. You're surprised when, before long, you're no longer with Irene at the emperor's wing.
You've been reassigned, promoted... moved to the Prince's personal palace. His own and new home... kingdom.
That's when you learn the truth: he isn't looking for a wife. He already has one, chosen by the emperor. This entire selection was about preparing his new household. A quiet kingdom-in-training, and you're part of it now.
Inside the Prince’s court, hierarchy is law. At the top: senior women trusted with dressing him, managing his meals, keeping his routine flawless. Personal maids handle the rest, baths, garments, daily details. You're somewhere between, backup to the tea maid by day, but your main role stays the same: keep the lamps burning. Specialty, they call it. But that word holds weight.
Around you, other women serve in silence. One handles incense, mixing rare woods and oils to scent the Prince's chambers. Another prepares tea with ceremonial grace. A third weaves fine embroidery into royal silks. Each of you has a purpose, and none of you can afford a single mistake.
You've come far, but you're still walking a razor's edge.
"Could you—"
Your ears perk at the husky whisper, barely audible beneath the rustling of your own footsteps. It's the middle of the night, and you'd only risen from bed to snuff out the last of the palace lights. But you pause, startled, when you catch the Prince himself slipping silently into the kitchen, the very one you just finished darkening moments before.
His movements are delicate, barefoot, almost ghost-like. You hadn't heard a single footfall on the stone floors. His black robe is loosely tied, hair slightly tousled, like he just woke up from bed without calling for assistance.
You bow quickly, heart pounding. Normally, when no one watched, you used magic to light the flame. But not now. Silently, you glide to the cabinet, kneel, and steady your hands. No magic, you remind yourself. Be fast. Don't make him wait. You retrieve the taper case, steady hands pulling free a single waxed strip. At the far wall, a lantern waits, recently snuffed. On your third try, a spark catches. You lean in, breathing gently watching the ember glowing bigger. You light the taper. Rising carefully, you open the glass lantern and touch flame to wick. It flickers, then blooms into steady light, casting a warm glow across the kitchen tiles.
Behind you, the Prince watches. His expression softens, just slightly. His eyes shift to the lantern, then to your soot-smudged fingers. "You always do this alone?" he asks, not unkindly. Just curious. His voice is low and rough with sleep, like a page not yet turned.
You hesitate. Most in your position don't speak unless spoken to and even then, with care. "Yes, My Prince. It's my duty to see the flames out before morning," you reply, lowering your eyes politely.
He hums, a small sound in his throat. Not disapproving. Not quite anything... You wonder if you should go and leave him here while you carry on to snuff out the other lights around the palace, or if you should stay... he didn't even dismiss you, so you don't want to test out what will happen if you walk away from him.
You bow your head lightly. "Allow me to prepare tea, My Prince." You end up saying, wondering why he came down by himself. He doesn't respond, not with words, but his silence as well as him taking a seat on the stool is permission enough. You move with purpose. A clay teapot from the shelf. A ladle of hot water from the covered kettle still warm on the hearthstone. The soft clink of porcelain as you place a single cup on the table.
Then, from the same cabinet, you pull the porcelain jar of honey, thick and amber-colored and set it beside the teacup. You open the lid and dip in a small spoon, offering it without meeting his gaze. "For the throat, if you're unwell," you murmur, quietly.
He steps forward, takes the jar then, brushing your fingers slightly, whether on purpose or not you can't tell. You swallow, unsure if the heat rising in your cheeks is from the lingering lantern-glow or something else entirely. You shouldn't feel anything. But the heat in your chest doesn't listen to rules. As he turns to pour a spoonful into the cup, he murmurs without looking at you: "Leave the lights, just for tonight."
A pause.
"It's too quiet in the dark." He doesn't sip right away, instead, he looks at you, the light playing across his face, softening the lines of his brow. "You always work so quietly," he says, you keep your eyes lowered, a soft warmth coating your cheeks. He's noticed you.
Your voice doesn’t falter. "It is my place to move without notice, My Prince."
He hums, deep in his throat, as he stirs the honey into the tea. Tonight, though, he doesn't dismiss you as he drinks his tea and the lantern still burns.
And for the first time, after spending months in the dynasty, where you thought you'd settle... this small interaction with the prince has your mind dreaming of something more. A favored glance, a small promotion, or even the impossible: to rise from servant to companion, and change the course of your life forever.
You don't pretend it could ever become real. You've tucked the 'wanting' into the quiet corners of your mind. It plays out only in fantasy, imagined conversations, the warmth of his hands brushing yours by accident or design... But lately, it's harder to keep it there.
Because you've started to notice… he looks at you.
It begins subtly. You're assisting the other maids with tea, delicate porcelain cups placed carefully on carved wooden trays, your hands steady as you kneel before the nobles and visiting dignitaries. Prince Chenle sits at the head of it all, back straight, robes and attire clean, his expression unreadable until your eyes flick upward and catch his gaze.
He's watching you.
Not idly. Not as a noble might look upon a servant, faceless and unremarkable. There's no smile on his lips. But there is warmth in his eyes. A quiet pull. A question not asked aloud. You bow your head, a shy smirk over your lips, return to your task, pretend not to notice the flicker in your chest. And then it happens again. And again.
At court halls gatherings, where performers twirl and jesters tumble for the Prince's amusement, you're meant to stay behind the curtain part of the palace's living background. But from where you stand, clearing the emptied wine cups or adjusting cushions for his guests, you feel it. That gaze. It finds you even when the hall is filled with color and noise.
And when you look back, he's still watching. He doesn’t look away first. Not even when the Princess is seated beside him.
It's no secret their union was arranged. A match from titles and royal parents who want to merge kingdoms. The Princess is graceful, perfectly poised, always smiling when spoken to, always polite in return. He treats her the same with formality, never cruelty, but never affection. The kind of distance that exists between two people who know their fate was decided by someone else's ink and seal.
They are a portrait. Beautiful. Unmoving.
But when his eyes find you, something shifts. Just slightly. A breath deeper than the last. A pause before speaking. A glance that lasts one heartbeat too long. It is never spoken aloud. There are no letters, no touches, no words that could be used as proof. But you know... and dare even say, there is something there. Shared. Private.
And still, you keep your head bowed. You serve the tea. You light the lanterns. You wash the silks and sweep the halls.
But every time your fingers brush the rim of a porcelain cup, or your shadow crosses the steps of his throne, you wonder if he’s watching. And when you dare to glance... just once, you always find the answer. He's looking, subtly, gently, eyes wanting to form words, but he can't. And you don't - because you know your position.
One evening the emperor goes out in battle to claim a fallen kingdom and the prince goes with him, to fight alongside his father. Sword at hip, fire in his blood ready to fight as his father's shadow and heir.
The palace doesn't sleep. From the highest tower to the deepest courtyard, lamps burn low and steady. The air is thick, as everyone waits, yet keeps busy. In some parts of the palace, shared breaths of silence between maids, guards and nobles are alike. But other parts hum with whispered prayers and restless pacing. You keep busy in the kitchen with the other maids, but your restless pacing leads you beside the guard Donghyuck, who's duty is simply to stand on guard in a hallway.
"Still have eyes for the Prince?" Donghyuck murmurs, low enough that no one else in the servants’ corridor hears. You shoot him a glare, sharp and silent. He stifles a chuckle behind his hand, unbothered. "Just asking," he says, smirking.
"I don't have eyes for the Prince," you say flatly. It's not a convincing lie, and you both know it. Among the other maids, you've always stood out. Not because of your voice, but because of the way you watch. Quiet, poised, graceful without meaning to be. Some of the younger maids treat you like a senior attendant, despite your protests. The older ones never disliked you, you weren't trouble, and that was enough.
But Donghyuck... he's the only one you keep close. Only because he once saw what no one else had. You stood in the middle of the hallway, and lit all the darkened lanterns with a speech from your mouth. A flicker of fire at your fingertip, hidden in the sleeve of your robe. Just a moment. A single mistake. He had just caught you being a witch.
In this dynasty, that mistake could mean death. You recently heard from the hand maids who follow the princess around that she had watched a couple of 'witches' being burnt. So you already know you're place, remembering your father's words to never show yourself. Your 'kind' is hunted, burned, forgotten and then buried. So when Donghyuck caught you, you expected the worst. But he never told. He promised to never tell, even if his reasons were selfish. He just wanted a friend in the palace. He doesn't talk to anyone else in the palace. He doesn't belong here. He's always been a shadow tucked into corners, slipping past unnoticed.
So he couldn't spread your secret even if he wanted to. So you let him stay close. Closer than anyone else. And in doing so, you once admitted your foolish 'fancy' for the Prince, and since then he's never let it go.
"You know, the more I look, the more I see. If you hadn't told me your undying love for the king to be-"
"Shhh-" you hush him hearing him chortle again.
"I wouldn't notice it if you hadn't told me. But..." Donghyuck says now, tone casual but eyes keen. "He looks at you. Like yesterday."
"He looks at a lot of people," you mutter.
"Not like that. And it's not like he just looked... almost like zoned out, captivated. For too long. He doesn't even look at Lady Yun like that? And she's his own wife,"
"She's not his wife."
"Yet."Donghyuck tilts his head. You don't reply. "You know it's dangerous, right?"
You glance at him. "I'm not doing anything."
"That's the thing," he says. "You don't have to. You just exist, and he keeps looking." A beat passes. Then, with something almost like sympathy, he adds, "Don't fall too hard. You already have one secret that could get you killed."
You meet his eyes. "I don't fall," you say, confidently.
But even as you say it, you feel the heat rising in your chest. Why does it have to be like this? Only when a flame's been lit in your heart.
Finally, after much wait, the palace gates finally open again. From inside the palace, you and Donghyuck stand behind the curtain of the window, the stone cold beneath your fingertips as you lean forward to watch. The Prince doesn't ride his horse.
Instead, he's laid carefully inside the royal carriage, though he insists on walking the last few steps when they arrive. Two guards stay close to him, not holding him, but near enough to catch him if he falters.
Your breath hitches in your throat when you notice his attire. The top half is torn down the back, blood soaking through silk. A gash runs deep across his shoulder blades, long... ugly and raw, packed with earth and crushed herbs by the healers who marched with the army. He doesn't flinch, but you can see it in his posture, the tension, the pain.
"Must've been one hell of a battle." you murmur under your breath.
Donghyuck doesn't answer right away. He's watching too, arms crossed, face unreadable. "He's lucky he came back at all," he finally says.
You glance at him, but he's still staring outside. There's no mockery in his voice this time, just a quiet bluntness. A truth too heavy for comfort. Everyone knows Prince Chenle is brave, to the point where it becomes a fault. Reckless, even. Hot-headed in the heat of battle, stubborn in council, too proud to show weakness even when blood stains his clothes. He carries the weight of the empire like it's a personal dare, not a birthright.
He never retreats. Never yields. Even now, with a wound that would have most men slumped over a stretcher, he walks like he's still wearing his crown.
And yet… You see the way his hand clenches near his side. The sharpness in his jaw. The way he doesn't meet anyone's eyes as they pass through the palace gates.
You don't know if it's pain or shame that keeps his head bowed.
"He shouldn't even be walking," you whisper. "That wound—"
"He's the Prince," Donghyuck cuts in, tone low. "He'll walk until his knees give out. Then he'll crawl."
You press your lips together, heart tight. "He should rest," you say.
Donghyuck turns his eyes on you, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly. "Gee, wouldn't you want to be the one to make sure of that, hm?"
You look away. "I just don’t want him to bleed to death before he can even enter his chamber."
There's a pause, long enough for you to hear the distant steps as the guards escort the Prince deeper into the palace. Donghyuck's voice is softer when he finally speaks again. "Then you better stay away. You get too close, and they'll burn you long before they bury him."
"Now you're just being cynical." You mutter, causing Donghyuck to stand in position as you follow with the other attendants to the Prince's room. As instructed, you turn on the lanterns and candles around.
Soon after, the Prince is led in, not walking as proudly as usual, but still upright. Guards flank him, tense and alert, and the Emperor follows closely behind.
"My Prince-" the Princess rushes in behind them, her voice breaking, sobbing. "You're hurt-"
"I'm fine." His tone isn't cruel, but it cuts all the same, enough to make her halt mid-step. Even you flinch slightly. He exhales, jaw tight, eyes shut. "Stop crying. I said I'm fine."
The Princess bites her lip, glancing toward the emperor for reassurance. The older male, his father doesn't offer it. He watches the prince with an unreadable expression, a heavy gaze that sees past blood and bandages. Father, ruler, judge.
Inside the chamber, the healers get to work. Wraps are brought in. Roots are ground into paste. Hot water is poured into copper bowls, sending bitter steam into the air.
Chenle stands stiff and still, jaw locked, back bowed. He doesn't groan or cry out, even when the salves burn, even when the linen sticks to torn skin. He refuses assistance, waving away a physician's hand until—
"That's enough," the Emperor says, his voice firm, though dulled by exhaustion. "You will rest. That is a command."
Chenle looks at him for a long moment. The pain softens, not in his body, but behind his eyes. "Yes, Father," he says at last, but his voice is quiet. Like surrender. Then, without another word, he shrugs out of what remains of his robes. Bloodied silk falls to the floor, and he carefully lies down on his stomach, baring his injured back to the few still present. "Dismissed," Chenle says, tone clipped and final. His face is turned away.
A signal.
The emperor nods once to the remaining guards. "Only the healers stay."
With that, the Emperor turns and leaves, his guards trailing silently behind him, boots echoing down the corridor. You take a step to follow, but pause when a gentle hand touches your arm.
The Princess. She hasn't left yet. She lingers by the doorway, her fingers twisting the delicate silk of her sleeve. Her eyes remain on the Prince's still figure, though his back is turned to her. He doesn't look up. Doesn't speak.
"Rest well," she says, softly. Carefully. But there's no affection in it, just the bare civility expected of her. She starts to step away, then hesitates, glancing at you. Her voice lowers, just for your ears. "Once the healers finish, turn down the lights. Not all, just enough for him to sleep."
You bow your head. "Yes, My Princess."
She leaves without another word. You're about to turn and go as well, but one of the senior healers catches your sleeve. "Wait," she murmurs, gesturing toward the far wall. "That flame, dim it. Too much light will strain his eyes. And the one near the window as well. We'll be done soon."
You nod again, quietly moving to obey. As they continue tending the wound, applying fresh balm, adjusting the wrappings, you walk from lamp to lamp, gently reducing the flames to a low, golden flicker. The scent of herbs hangs thick in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood. Shadows grow longer. Softer.
You loiter near one of the lanterns, cloth in hand, pretending to polish the brass. Your eyes fall to the Prince's back... the ruined skin, the silent pain, the stillness he clings to like armor. He looks so… human.
And it twists something in you. After that you leave.
You remain in the kitchen, seated quietly beside the Princess after telling her the healers are still busy. The princess's own ladies whisper in hushed tones to her. One of them says he's in pain — she saw the way his hands trembled as he braced himself on the doorframe. Another heard the physician say the wound would scar terribly, that the herbs are barely holding back infection.
The Princess says nothing. The younger maids are dismissed to rest. Even the Princess retires, escorted quietly back to her own wing. But you linger in the kitchen until the healers are done. They retreat in the kitchen for some water and you listen as they speak softly of how pale the Prince looked, how his hands trembled when they helped him sit or turn.
Your legs then carry you up the eastern stairs, past dim lanterns. The hall to the princes private wing is silent until the guards stationed outside his chamber cross their spears before you.
"Stop," one says, voice firm. "No one enters without order."
You bow low. "The Princess sent me," your voice calm. "To shut out his lights."
The guards hesitate then nod once. One opens the door just wide enough for you to slip through. The chambers are quiet.
Golden lamplight spills across the floor, warm and flickering. The scent of herbs still lingers, sharp and bitter. He's lying on his stomach, robes pulled down to expose his back. The wound is packed with fresh mud, but his body trembles beneath it. No covers. No warmth.
His face is turned toward the wall, eyes closed, but not resting. Not really. His breathing is shallow, uneven, every inhale edged with pain. You move without sound. Not close enough to wake him up. You kneel beside the bed.
Your fingers hover above the wound. It's angry and red, swollen around the edges. The work of the healers is strong, but it won't be enough. You know this kind of injury. It festers easily.
You close your eyes... feeling connected to your magic after such a long time. It begins in your chest, a warmth that spreads through your ribs, into your shoulders, down your arms like the first glow of coals beneath ash. It hums beneath your skin, gentle but sure. Your hands lower, not quite touching him, but close enough that he'll feel the pull.
His body stills.
And you begin to whisper. It's not a grand chant, nothing sacred, nothing that would make the stones tremble or call wind to your fingertips. Just a quiet call, low and ancient, hidden deep within your breath. The words vibrate behind your ribs, and you feel it:
"Sana dorsum eius, Mater Natura, per aerem tuum. Audi vocem meam, corpus Principis, et pare verbis meis. Sanatus es." (heal his back, mother nature with your air. listen to my voice body of the prince and heed to my words. you're healed)
The warmth rushing through your arms, pulsing in your veins, reaching out through your fingertips. Your hands hover, then slowly lower. You press gently against the rim of the wound, not enough to wake him, but enough to let the magic seep in. His skin warms beneath your touch, and the fever shudder eases, just slightly. The tension in his shoulders softens. His breath deepens.
The magic flows, slow, controlled. You won't heal him fully. That would raise questions. But you guide the worst of the pain away, dulling the fever, closing the nerves just enough for rest to come easier. The tension in his shoulders begins to ease. His breath evens out.
You let the magic fade. You withdraw your hands carefully, feeling the last traces of warmth leave your palms.
He stirs. You freeze, heart pounding. But he doesn't wake. Not fully. Just a whisper from him, half-lost in sleep; "Don't close the lights."
You don’t answer.
You pull the blanket gently over his shoulders, tucking it just beneath his chin. Then you stand, quiet as the flickering lamp, and slip back through the door.
-
[Six months later]
You whimper, body trembling once you're thrown into the cell - you gasp when you hit the stone floor with a sickening thud, breath escaping from your suffocated lungs as the cell door slams behind you. Pain laces through your arms where you were poured with the holy water - which on your skin burned like fire. Your raw skin flaring each time you move. Pain blooms across your body as you drag yourself to the farthest corner of the cell.
"Dirty witch." The guard gives one last disgusted look before walking out banging of the door, locking you in the empty cell house. You hug yourself tightly, shivering and panting like a dog as you wipe frantically over your arms. You try to use your magic to ease up the burns and pains on your skin, but the power is low... lazy - weak from all the days of beatings and public shame. You're weak.
Hours of being dragged, beaten, drenched in holy water have left your flesh screaming. Every patch of skin feels scorched, no relief, only fire. The tears have dried on your face in long, salty streaks, stiff against your cheeks.
You force yourself to look around the cell that will keep you tonight: three stone walls, one iron gate. Cold, damp floors. A foul corner for waste. Nothing else. Only a sliver of night sky visible through the waist-high bars your single thread to the world outside. You stare at it until the ache in your chest swallows everything.
"I'm so sorry Chenle..." you weep in your arms, which burn every time a tear drop lands on your skin. Your lips tremble. "It was my fault... I shouldn't have..."
You pause when hearing a lowly chuckle. "They say sorcerers don't cry." a weak voice emerges through the silence. "But not all sorcerers are alike. Some are more... special. I wonder which kind you are."
You look up to the bricked ceiling, and then landing to the darken night sky outside the little carved out space used as a window... the bars are so high. The chuckle comes back.
"No dear. The skies don't speak. I'm here, on the other side of your cell."
Your stomach drops. You thought you were alone in this whole prison house. The witches' prison only holds you. Who else could be down here? And who would dare call you a sorcerer?
"I've piqued your interest." the voice sounds softer this time, still with a lingering chuckle or smile to it. "Now repeat these words after me. Schwebe, schwebe, ohne Furcht." (float float, without fear)
You're hesitant, and your mouth goes dry. But his voice returns gentler.
"Repeat it with me."
You push to your feet, trembling. The words spill from your chest, steady, already knowing the incantation.
"But my magic is weak..." you say lowly.
"Together, it won't be." the voice says again.
You gulp and then with dried and burning lips, you say the words with your chest, you don't fear as the weight at your feet loosens. You don't fear as you begin to float in the air, going higher and higher. Fear dissolving into something stranger until your eyes are clear past the bars.
And there, outside you see him. A man hangs in chains from a skeletal tree. The moonlight drapes over his face, he's a handsome fellow with almost perfect skin. But something about the sight makes your blood turn to ice. You wonder why he's handing and you glance down, causing your eyes to enlarge. Knives scattered like seeds, pin smeared all over the ground, and stains of dark red, a slick, sticky gleam of blood.
"You're a powerful sorcerer." he says, with a weak smile. "Now repeat these words after me."
His next words are in latin, in an incantation you're not too familiar with: "Devinctus es mihi, Na Jaemin. Nunc et in aeternum."
You've never heard that word before. It coils on your tongue like something foreign, wrong. Your father warned you: never speak what you do not understand. You part your lips to refuse, but then his eyes meet yours again. Calm. Too calm. Something shifts in your chest. Not trust. Not certainty. Just... surrender. You speak the chant. Slowly. Each syllable like a step on thin ice. And when you finish, he smiles—too quickly, too wide.
But that's not what captures your attention, you see your wrist light up as a symbol glows on it, all your blood cells working together to reveal it- before it disappears. Three skeleton heads flare and your eyes widen. "What is this? What did you do?"
"The symbol which proves you really are a witch." he says, smiling. "A witch of pure blood. Was it your father or mother?"
"My..." you've never ever spoken about this before, and your father warned you to always keep it a secret. the only person/people who knew where his side of the family, your uncle Johnny and your grandparents... yet they passed away. So you look behind you - to the empty cell-
"Don't worry, no one's here." he says, assuring you. "You can trust me."
And that's when your unease truly begins. But still your voice is barely a whisper. "It was my father."
The man smiles, and with a horse voice he continues. "Let me guess, he bore two sons who weren't warlocks, deeming him a failure, but his daughter, you, are a witch. Which restored his honour." Even though you're weak, your eyebrows still furrow, distrust written over your forehead, yet the man continues. "You... were bought by the prince. I see him... betrothed to another woman, yet... cherishing you. Loving you..."
Hearing that, disarms you. You look down, eyes being blurred by fresh tears.
"You killed him."
"I did not." you snap glaring at him. He's is unfazed.
"It's your love that got him killed. Same difference." he says without even blinking.
"Who are you?" You finally ask. "And how do you know all that?"
"Na Jaemin." he replies with a twisted smile. "I'm an immortal. However that's not important. Because I have a proposition for you. Tell me, what do you want most in this world? And I will give it to you."
You scoff, half bitter yet also half amused. You blink at him like he's insane. His lips tilt into a smirk, as if challenging your gaze. Your smile falters as you ponder over his words that he's an immortal. You wonder what could that mean... and if he's powerful enough. So you take your chance. "I want the impossible."
He offers a crooked smile, more habit than warmth. "Nothing is ever impossible."
You raise a brow, tears briming over your eyes that watch him with dare and anger. "I want the Prince Chenle to live again. Do you think you could do that?" You dare, seriously, even though a tear leaves your eye.
"You want me to bring back your lover?"
You nod, more tears threatening to spill at the thought of bringing him back is real... but you hold yourself together. "Can you do that?" you ask again.
"I can." Another smile, half amused and half contempt. "And if I bring the Prince back, would you do something for me?"
But it sounds too good to be true, so you shake your head. "Impossible. No one can bring back the dead."
"Not a witch. But an immortal like myself, I can do anything."
"No you're in chains and can't help yourself, so how can you help me." you fire back, heart rising, your voice becoming rigid.
"I know." he states, his eyes glint, words becoming softer. "But I can turn back time, only with help. You can help me. I can turn back time to the exact moment, when the Prince was still alive and then you would be able to prevent the tragedy." you shake your head, to deny but he continues. "How about, I turn it further back... say... the night you healed his... back wound."
Your eyes peak up, you stare at him. "How did you know that?"
"I'm an immortal-"
"That doesn't explain how you know that!" you get angry.
"It doesn't matter how I know it, because isn't that where things fell apart?" His eyebrow raising, and then a smile coats his lips again. "Would you want me to make it further back?"
"How?"
"You will learn the specifics, when you do something for me?"
"What?" you ask softly, lowering your gaurd. "What would you have me do?"
"Travel to the future." your lips part, as he says that. His eyes serious, and this time there's no hint of the smirk anywhere on his face.
You curse in your head. "The future? That's impossible and ridiculous."
"Complete one mission for me." He ends up saying. Your heartbeat, beats in your throat, by his offer... and how serious he's being. "You don't have to make a decision now. If you want to move through time, offer your spirit. Say the words, and I'll take your soul at the moment of fire."
"I'll do it." Without much thought you nod - agreeing to this. "If you're serious about all this, and I can bring back my Chenle, I'll do it."
And then a faint curve of his lips appears. "Good. Repeat this after me."
Accepting to do whatever it is, so that you can bring back Chenle back... you repeat after him. As you chant together, a necklace lifts from his neck, floats through the air, and slips into your cell. As it approaches you, you feel a bad shiver running down your spine - almost wheezing you to stop.
But you don't, because you know how real this is. You're floating back down, by the end of the incantation, as Jaemin briefs you through what you must do.
Which is why, the next morning, as you're dragged out of your cell at dawn with whips cutting red across your back - you remind yourself what's at stake. All you want is Chenle back...
The sun burns the soles of your feet as you are forced to walk barefoot on heated stone, an old punishment used to flush the blood from the body and the life from the spirit. They bind you to a wooden stake ringed with straw. You're so weak and can't even lift a finger.
You look out, seeing the crowd that had formed and followed behind you, as the priest and his guards continued to splash holy water on you - calling you names and shouting out publicly indicating another 'caught witch'.
And it's not just the crowd, you see the emperor, the princess, important dignitaries seated under a shade, glares in there eyes. Your eyes stare dead into the emperor's eyes. Your heart will never forgive him for what he did.
He took away your future... the memory fades in your mind, but you still remember...
The sweet embrace of love between you and... Chenle that night. A night making love in the quiet chambers of his room. No guards around to hear your whimper of love and desperation to have him in you. No other maid to turn down the light that caused the room to be steamy. Absolutely no one, to tell you that this would be the best night of your life.
He kisses your belly, looking up to your eyes. Even though you refrained from telling him that you could feel... something moving inside of you, another form of life being created - you could tell that Chenle was already so ready to leave everything behind to be with you.
"Meet me tomorrow," Chenle whispers, his fingertips tracing the curve of your spine, brushing over warm skin. "2 a.m. Before the world wakes up." He leans in, his breath soft against your ear. "We’ll run. Just the two of us. And we'll raise our child. Together."
"Our child?" You laugh gently, unable to hide the smile that tugs at your lips.
He grins, kissing your throat, where your laughter hums against his lips. "You didn't think this seed was just for decoration, did you?" Another laugh escapes you, softer this time. "Come on. Just us, living our lives,"
You lean close, kissing his lips, running your fingers through his wet hair which clings to his forehead. You embrace him in agreement to profess your love and your willingness to follow him. "I'll go with you." You press your forehead to his, whispering,
It's a sealed deal, a sweat promise, a future awaiting you... a fragile, glowing future waiting just beyond dawn.
The next morning, you don't pack anything as instructed. You simply perform your duties, with Chenle going about his day as normal, meeting with his father and 'leaving' to set sail for Japan. Little does anybody know, at 2 a.m. rendezvous time, he's back at the palace, behind some trees and bushes, looking out to the pond which floated around... waiting for you.
You see him before he sees you, as you walk down the little slope subtly admiring him from behind. He finally turns around, captured by your beauty, a charming smile forms over his lips. You love the way he's eyes smile at you. He admires you too as you walk closer to him, white dress over your ankles, allowing you to look like an angel, flower in your hair, and a gracious smile over your lips. Lantern in hand, moving closer to him. He welcomes you in his arms. You hug him tight as a greeting, and then peer up at him, lips locking as another greeting. You can't get enough of his lips, each peck has you giddy, excited and longing to be closer to him like never before - but he parts tapping your noes with a tender chuckle.
He kisses your forehead. As he takes the lantern from your hand, his fingers linger on yours. "You always show up right when I need you," he playfully starts joking.
You smile faintly. "I'm not magic, you know." you kid.
He tilts his head, playing along. "Aren't you though?"
You roll your eyes. "If I were magic, I'd disappear every time you get smug."
He laughs, then presses a kiss to your knuckles. "Then I'm lucky you're just almost magical." His nose having a whiff of the fragrance on your skin. "You smell different tonight. Still good. Lavender?"
"No," you smile, being happy he noticed your scent. "It's water lilies with honey,"
"Water lilies... For eternal love?"
"It's for real love," you answer him. "Which means... I'm ready. For forever. With you,"
His fingers tighten gently around yours, his voice low, but smile evident on his face. "Then let's begin our forever."
But before either of you can move, flames erupt in the dark—torches flaring to life, cutting through the quiet.
A voice shouts from the shadows. "Arrest her!"
"Don't let her escape!"
Guards charge out of the trees. Chenle instantly stands in front of you, hand at hip to draw out his sword- yet forgetting there's nothing ther. His face hardens as he sees the Princess emerge from the shadows. Her finger pointed at you like a dagger. "She's a witch My Prince."
Chenle is about to respond, however he looks passed her, to the man on a horse. "Father?"
"What did you do to my son?" The Emperor roars, eyes locked on you.
Chenle shakes his head. "Father- I can explain-"
"When did your spell start?" his voice thunders, boots striking the ground as he approaches. Chenle blocks his path unflinching. "Are you blind son? Have you forgotten that it's them who killed your mother! She's bewitched you-"
"I've never forced anyone to do what they don't want." you speak out as a guard grabs your arm- "Not even Chenle."
"Silence! Did she just call you by name-" the emperor spits. "What arrogance- what filth has she filled you with-"
Chenle pushes the guard off you, fury in his eyes. "Nobody touch her. That's an order. Anyone who defies me will be punished."
"Insolence!" The princess's hand flies out, slapping you across the face. "Arrogant witch-"
Chenle grabs her wrist, his glare enough to rattle her. "How dare you-"
"This is nonsense-" the emperor snaps. "Guards separate them!"
Hands drag you away from Chenle. In desperation you chant, "In dorsa ver hol se. In dorsa ver hol se." The pond ripples, and wet, snarling dogs crawl out of the water, their fur dripping, teeth bared. They lunge at the guards, snapping and tearing, driving them back.
The Emperor, the Princess, everyone recoils. The dogs edge toward the Princess but she only laughs shrilly. "She did that! She's a witch!"
"Son, she's bewitched you—"
"It's not true," Chenle says firmly, holding your hand tighter. You keep close to him- nerves high as you watch with both pure fear as well as power. You can feel how the ground slowly begins to shake by your anger- literally. Chenle turns to you, voice softening. He knows what happens when you become like this- one with nature. "Stop. Darling. Please. Don't do this. I'll protect you, I promise. We'll find another way."
"Emperor!" the Princess cries. "That damned maid bewitched your son with the Devil's help! Look at how he's not even afraid of her"
"That's a lie!" you shout, your heart beating so hard it hurts.
"She's not a witch, Father—" Chenle begins, but the Princess cuts him off, stamping her foot. "Silence! The servant Donghyuck confessed. He saw her using witchcraft to seduce you! You're blind to it but we are not. That devil possessed you!"
"I'm not the Devil—"
"Silence!" the Emperor snaps, striding forward. Chenle moves to shield you, but with a flick of the emperor's fingers the guards seize him. You twist to run but the Emperor's hand closes around your throat. "By the power vested in me," he says coldly, "I sentence you for witchcraft and heresy. You will burn at the stake."
"Father—if you burn her," Chenle says, his voice breaking with rage, "T-then we’ll both burn. I'll kill myself-"
"Chenle no…" you gasp, the Emperor's grip crushing your windpipe.
"My king, don't listen to him—" this time the princess intercedes.
"Arrest me! Punish me- but please stop hurting her!" But Chenle shouts out when seeing you in pain. "Let me die! I will not live without her. If this kingdom cannot accept our love, then I renounce my title!"
"Zhong Chenle! How dare you—" you're dropped to the ground as the Emperor draws his sword so fast and charges to Chenle.
"No—"
“No son of mine will ever belong to the Devil,” the Emperor snarls.
A sound rips from your throat — a scream of pure grief. The Princess’s cry joins yours as the blade drives into Chenle’s body. Chenle's mouth blurts out blood, and then his body goes limp.
"No- no- no! Chenle!" you cry out, your hands to your heart, heart breaking, chokes leaving your throat.
"You devil!" the Emperor roars, his voice shaking with fury. "Don't you dare utter his name—"
A kick to the face has you snapping back to the present as you glare daggers into the eyes of father who killed his own son.
The crowd gathers like vultures: neighbors, merchants, hollow-eyed children, faces peering under the shade. The Emperor sits in full regalia; the Princess glances down, eyes dry but hollow.
And then you see your family. Your father, eyes moist. Your mother harshly brawling with fresh tears. Your brothers Jaehyun and Jungwoo angered - protesting out to those cursing you. "She's not a witch!"
But weakly you look back to your father, and look down ashamed... you're reminded of what he once said... "I don't ever, ever... want to catch you using dark magic, drawing power from places you don't understand. Most witches who get caught? It's because they revealed themselves. Promise me you won't be one of them."
Your father reads your body language - just as the winds whisper to him something. His eyes enlarge when looking to your neck and seeing the necklace around you with a familiar jeweled ruby ornament and he shakes his head frantically - what have you done?
The priest steps up onto the wooden platform, robes bright against the dull morning sky as he blesses the crowd. "Peace be upon you all." he intones, voice flat and practiced. "Today we gather because the heavens, in their mercy, have exposed evil among us. The one you see here," He gestures to you, "Is a friend of the devil."
Gasps ripple through the crowd. Some call out your name, condemnation, pity, lies. Your uncle tries to speak in your defense, but his voice is swallowed by the rising tide of outrage.
"She has bewitched nature," The priest goes on, louder now, feeding off the crowd. "Animals. Even men. She used herbs and potions to enchant minds and poison hearts. She cast her charms upon our innocent Prince, seduced him, and led him to his death.”
More cries. Shock. Grief. Rage. Your head shakes slowly, in disbelief, but the priest presses forward.
"In her arrogance, she believed herself equal to her master. She fornicated with the Prince. And now, some say" his voice drops to a dramatic hush. "She carries the spawn of Satan within her."
You now look at the priest in his eyes, tears turned to rage. His eyes which hold wrath for witches, in his eyes, you were like a rat which infested a home. He needed to get you out, before you spread.
"Therefor by virtue of our law," he blesses his forehead, left and then right shoulder- prompting the crowd to do the same. before signaling the guards to light up their flames. "I condemn you, to burn here and in hell."
A guard leans over with a stake already burned and he lays it over the hay straws. Instantly fire catches and the flames rise. You close your eyes, fearing trying to overcome you, but you subside it, and with a weak voice you begin an incantation, calling out to Jaemin.
"Faciam. Jaemin, accipe spiritum meum in manus tuas. Faciam. Sanguinem meum in futurum accipe."
Your toes recoil with heat and you scream yelling out the incantations louder. The crowd that was once bustling with chaos settles for silence upon hearing your voice raise and foreign strange words fill the atmosphere.
"She really is a witch?" mummers begin floating around.
Your shocked mother, with streak line of tears down her face asks, "Honey what's going on?" She knows she never gave birth to a witch, so what is going on. Your brothers equally wondering why they're sister is burning, and they're doing nothing to stop it. With horror they listen to your cries which turn to angry chants of incantation that no one knows. People all wondering what you're saying, but...
Uncle Johnny... a few hidden witches and warlocks in the crowd, and your father, clearly hear what you're saying.
Your father shakes his head feeling the darkness in the atmosphere cloud you. "She's met the devil."
The words you keep repeating leave a bitter taste in his ears: 'I will do it. Jaemin take my spirit into your hands. I will do it. Take my blood into the future.'
Your mother covers her mouth, body trembling, watching your legs shrivel up as your feet begin getting scorched, burned, your body shivering uncontrollably as it's too much- too painful- you sound possessed.
The emperor immediately stands up when he makes out a portion of you words.
"Por Chenle. Por Chenle. Por Chenle."
"What is she saying?!" The emperor roars as your voice gets louder. "Stop her! Keep my son's name out of your bewitched mouth! Stop her!"
The priest begins saying prayers for the deceased son, asking God to protect and keep the soul of the dead. And in the midst of this chaos, your father gets on his knees, hands over his thighs as he pleads with nature, trying to speak to the balance to save his daughter. But it's Jaemin, outside of the prison cell who's hanging by the tree, laughing when feeling your magic, your power course through his veins, receiving your promise. He recites the chants he practiced with you over and over again, until his eyes shift, the color bleeding into a deep, electric purple — unnatural, arresting, like magic made visible, giving him access into the invisible world. Using his power, he breathes in your spirit thrusting your conscious and soul deep into the future.
And with one blink, he sets your destination in motion.
Future present: 2027
At first, there's nothing. And then- a sharp gasp tears from your throat as your eyes fly open- instantly stinging with salt and water. You're surrounded by darkness and your skin feels so cold. You're underwater- Panic seizes you. Limbs heavy, lungs screaming, hair whipping around like ink in the current. You’re drowning. You kick hard, clawing toward the shimmer above. Fingers break the surface— then your head.
You burst out, choking, gasping, air slicing into your chest like a blade. The world spins. Your soaked dress clings to your skin. Every breath is heavy and short. But you're alive. The water laps at your waist as you try to get a hold of yourself. Everything is wrong.
It's night. But the stars, you barely recognize them. Strange lights flash nearby- reds, blues, neon greens. Loud music pulses through the air, foreign and electrifying. People are laughing, shouting. You can't understand any of it. You stumble forward, dragging yourself out of the water, every step heavy and disoriented. The ground beneath your feet is soft, warm, sand. But it's not like any shore you've ever known.
Then someone rushes into view. A young man. Bare-chested, skin slick with water, wearing strange, short garments that cling to his thighs. His eyes widen the moment he sees you. He reaches out- but you're faster. You seize his arm and shove him back, your breath still unsteady, heart racing. "Touch me again and I'll cut off your hand."
"Hey- hey relax. You looked like you were drowning? Are you alright?" he asks, voice filled with concern. "Are you okay?"
You blink at him, confused, chest heaving, body swaying side to side, your feet feels like it's burning. "What… what year is it? What year is this?" you manage to ask.
He doesn't get the chance to answer as the world tips sideways, your vision narrowing, sound warping. You feel yourself falling- then nothing but darkness clogs out all your senses.
-
You feel like you're floating in a nothing but darkness. Somewhere deep in your unconscious mind, a voice echoes, calm and commanding. "Your mission is simple. Find Jeno. Place the ruby on him. And kill him. Repeat it back to me." It repeats. Over and over again, but this time you and the mysterious voice repeat the words together. "Find Jeno. Place the ruby. Kill him." The words wrap around your mind like a chant. A curse.
You jolt awake. Blinding white light floods your vision. The ceiling above you is stark, sterile, humming with an odd mechanical sound. You sit up fast, too fast, and panic floods your chest. Where are you?
"Easy! Easy!" Two figures rush to your sides, a man and a woman, both dressed in strange, crisp white clothing. The man presses a hand gently to your shoulder as the woman tries to speak calmly. "You're safe. You're okay. Just breathe... breathe."
But your heart won't slow. Your eyes scan the room, white walls, blinking machines, tubes and lights. You've never seen anything like this. The scent in the air is sharp and chemical. "Where… am I?" you rasp, voice hoarse and wild.
"You're in a hospital," the man says slowly, as if trying not to startle you. "You passed out on the beach."
Hospital? Beach? You don't know the word, but you understand the tone. You're somewhere meant for the sick or dying. They manage to calm you just enough to lie back down, but the fear hasn't left your eyes. The man, he must be some kind of healer, you think.
"Where did these wounds come from?"
You follow his gaze where his brows are furrowed deeply, and your breath catches. .The burns... The stake... The fire. You remember, and just like that, the memories come rushing in all at once, causing a sharp pain to poke at your head. You grunt- pinching your forehead, but at the same time the feeling of your body returns- and you're no longer on adrenaline but you feel the ache of your legs. But you say nothing. You can just use magic and you'll be alright... but you need to get out of here.
You clear your throat. "This is the future," you say mostly to yourself and try to get off the bed.
"Woah, woah not so fast." The man and woman try to hold you down again. You notice the wires connected to your chest and arms- you try to get them off you but both the prospects don't let you go. "You can't walk around with those burns. They're third degree and prune to infections. They're deep. They're serious. You need to rest." he says, exchanging a glance with the woman. "We'll treat them. We'll give you anesthesia—it'll help with the pain."
"No." Your voice is sharp. "Just bring me mud. And herbs. I'll be gone by morning."
They look at you like you're mad. "I promise," the man says gently, "Our methods work better than home remedies. We'll take good care of you."
You stare at him for a long moment, heart still pounding, but your strength is waning. You let your head sink back into the pillow, eyes fluttering closed again. But then it hits you. Your eyes snap open. "Where are my clothes? My necklace—"
"Hey—hey, it's alright!" the nurse says quickly, pointing to a small dresser beside the bed. "They're all there. Safe. We didn't throw anything out."
You exhale shakily, the tension in your body easing just enough for exhaustion to creep back in.
"You're safe. Trust us." Safe. You repeat the words in your head. You're safe for now, but you need to hurry and get on with your mission so that you can get out of this mysterious future and place. They tend to your fit, you wince in pain, but they give you some medication that numbs your feet as they put weird treatments on it and then wrap it in a bandage. The strange part is that you don't feel it.
You're wide awake now, sitting upright in the strange, too-soft bed. Your eyes are fixed on the flat screen mounted high on the wall—the one the nurse had turned on for you. At first, you couldn't believe it was real. The moving pictures, the voices coming from nowhere, the glowing colors. It's like a living painting, but alive without a soul. You're impressed, overwhelmed, even, by how everything in this room seems impossible. The lights burn without fire. The air smells... nothing smells like herbs or wood you recognize. Even the air blows on it's own from a press of a button. There are machines everywhere, humming softly like insects.
You can't stop asking questions. "What is this?" you ask, pointing to the screen beside your bed that elevates the rhythm of your heartbeat. "And this?" you gesture at a beeping door. "What does it do?" Everything fascinates you, but also unsettles you.
For the past hour you've been watching a series called 'House', a tale about a doctor who heals the sick with strange procedures instead of herbs or charms. You try to understand it, but the world it shows feels like a story told in a fever dream. Your eyes wander away from the glowing screen to the glass wall. Beyond it, you watch the rest of the hospital. There's a table reception and people of different colors wearing similar coats and uniform. The pants weird, shirts weird - fashion nothing like the time you're from. But aside from hat you make out a two men in a black uniform. They look rigid and alert. The male doctor who tended your wounds, Doctor Lee, is speaking to them, his face tense.
You sit up straighter.
You don't ask anything. Instead, you turn to the nurse seated quietly beside you, her hands folded in her lap. She notices your gaze flicking toward the doctor and the two strangers. "Doctor Lee called the police," she says softly, almost apologetic. "They're going to question you about what happened, what you remember. Don't worry you're safe."
Her words echo Jaemin's warning: 'Stay away from prying eyes and wandering questions.'
Your stomach tightens. Maybe you've already failed at listening to the warnings. But you're not going to let them speak to you. You clear your throat, sit up taller, and speak with the weight of command, your voice low but sharp: "Leave." You don't mean to command her against her will - as it's another thing your father taught you against. Not to force people against their will. But it's an emergency. Jaemin said you needed to be fast and return to the past after you completed your mission.
The incantation slides from your tongue like smoke. The nurse blinks, swaying slightly. Then she stands, slow and dazed. "I'll… go and get you some water," she murmurs, and walks out of the room.
Through the glass wall, you can see Doctor Lee now walking toward your room with the two men in black.
You think fast. Only your magic can save you now. But you don't know if there's any 'nature' in here. You're surrounded by machines and humans and don't know if there's still earth for you to control.
Your eyes lift to the bright ceiling lights and recite a spell for darkness to come. Maybe just maybe... and unlike you expected - a flicker and spark bursts throughout the room. Sparks bursts across, followed by a sharp explosion. And then darkness. But not just in your room. The hallway and the rest of the floors are covered in pitch black darkness.
You're already moving. Your hand closes around your necklace, clutching it as you swing your legs off the bed. Pain flares in your wounds, but you grit your teeth and run. You sprint out into the darkened corridor, your covered feet slapping against the cold floors. People shout in confusion. And then there's red lights above. You murmur a location spell under your breath, the words tasting strange as they leave your mouth. The magic feels different now, thicker and even heavier, as if it isn't yours anymore, but infused with someone's power.
Jaemin.
The thought slices through you. Can he see you? Does he know what you're doing? You shove it aside. You can't think about that now. You burst out of the hospital doors into the night. Neon lights smear your vision, cars roar and screech to a halt as you dart across the street. Their metal bodies shine like beasts, headlights blinding you. Horns blare. Someone shouts. "Get off the road!" What are these- animals? What are they?! You jolt but keep running, lungs on fire.
Ahead, something moves-something shaped like a man but not. It glints like the machines from the hospital, mechanical but walking, watching. You don't dare slow down even as it asks you if you're okay. You're confused at the fact that it just produced sound. The future really has you spiraling and missing nature. And then you see it. A parch of green grass. A park, trees, a bush- grass!
Nature!
You run to it as if to an old friend. When your fingers brush the leaves of the nearest bush, you nearly sob with relief. It's weak, thin, not the deep earth you're used to, but it's something.
You stumble to the largest tree and press your palms to its bark. The roughness grounds you, its faint life thrumming under your fingertips. You close your eyes, reaching out, drawing on it—not just its strength, but its knowledge, its memory of the world.
It's not enough. But it's a start.
-
Flashback:
"Now listen to me."
You press your back to the cold stone and try to make your head still. Your wrists ache where they’re bruised; your legs tremble. Jaemin's voice comes from the darkness beyond the bars — low, steady, threaded with amusement. Even though you don't trust him, for now he's your only source of hope. You've got questions of how long he's been there, yet you're not in the position to question as he's offering you some kind of bargain with time travelling.
"The timeline I'm sending you to, is not like this." he says. "It's the future, advanced and more technical. The year will be 2027-"
"Wait, what?" You question, as your eyes enlarge on the knowledge he shares. "What's technical? And what do you mean 2027- should I be memorizing all of this things?"
Jaemin hardly minds being interrupted as he understands how all of this can cloud your head. "Don't try to cram facts into your head. Just listen as best as you can." he clarifies, explaining slowly. "Once you're there in that timeline, find a tree. Any tree. And everything I've said will come back to you. Any time you're lost, call to the wind and it will answer you."
"Can I use magic there?" you ask, voice small. Your fingertips numb, the thought of reaching for power feels distant.
"Don't relay heavily on your magic. Use it sparingly." he answers. "The body you will borrow in the future is fragile."
"Will it be my body?"
"Yes," Jaemin says quietly. "When you will burn on the stake, I'll begin the transition as you say the incantation. In the future, I'll use any body in the water, and merge your cells DNA, and everything with yours, that way, your conscious, mind and body will be able to come through."
But to you it sounds like he's reserving some information about that. "How are you able to do that?"
Jaemin makes a sound that could be a laugh. "It's magic silly."
"So after I confirm the year and then find a tree, what exactly do I need to do?"
Jaemin's tone thins into business. "Blend in. Dress like them. Talk like them. Make no one suspicious. Jeno teaches at a university, Advanced Mechanics. By day you'll find him there. By night he's out in the field as an engineer. If you find him, you place the ruby on him, then kill him with a simple kill spell. Do that and you come straight back here. Do it and you'll be reunited with Chenle. That's the bargain.”
"Is there… a time limit?" you ask. "What if I don't find him?"
"There's no practical deadline," he says, "But time stretches. An hour there is a millisecond here. Don't worry. If you can't find him by nightfall, it's not the end of the world - but you must keep the mission in mind. Don't get attached, don’t draw attention. If someone asks too many questions, walk away."
Your chest tightens. "If I need help?"
"You can call the wind," he repeats. "If that's too risky, find a man named Jisung. He's a warlock - you'll recognize him by a gemstone he wears. Tell him I sent you. He'll guide you."
"As best I can," you murmur. Your arms pulse with dull pain. "And you promise that if I kill Jeno you'll bring Chenle back?"
"A hundred percent," he says, voice sudden and flat with confidence. Then, softer, "How confident are you in killing someone?"
You swallow. You have never killed anyone. The question lands like a stone. Jaemin makes a small, pitying noise. "If you can't—"
"I've never killed, but that doesn't mean I won't do it." you say, surprising yourself with how firm you sound. "For Chenle. I'll put the ruby on Jeno first, then use a spell to kill him. I'll use dark magic if I have to." You think of your father... but you ignore it.
Jaemin goes quiet for a moment. The cell feels designed to devour strength: beatings, cold, everything to make a witch lose focus. You wonder how his voice stays so strong.
"Tell me," you say, curiosity overriding the pain. "How are you doing this? I can barely feel my fingertips. Why can you speak like that?"
There is a brittle chuckle. "Here, my magic won't work when I'm alone. It only activates when someone chants with me. That's where you came in. You're powerful enough to have survived my chants. These dumb mere mortal, they meant to weaken you so you can't cast a spell, but it only weakens focus, not will. Pain is mostly in the mind. When you learn to chant and focus, it dulls, it's what I've been doing for years now."
You picture him then: wrists bound, shoulders likely broken from hanging on that tree and yet his voice is sharp, threaded with sarcasm as if he's annoyed rather than broken. You ask how long he’s been there, but he won’t say. The silence he gives is its own answer.
Jaemin adds after a beat. "If you do this for me, I'll grant your wish. And make you immortal.”
You aren't sure whether to trust him or not... Still, the promise feels like a law you'd die to trust.
"And one last warning," he says. "Watch for your doppelgänger."
"My what?" you frown, hand going to your forehead where a headache blooms.
"A doppelgänger. Another version of you in the future. If she sees you, or you see her, it can fracture things. Don't let your paths cross. Finish the job without interruptions. Remember: your world is here. Your time is here."
He falls silent again. Your thoughts circle: the tree, the ruby, Jeno at a university, Jisung with his gemstone, a fragile borrowed body, time that eats seconds, and a mirror of yourself waiting somewhere in that future.
You close your eyes against the cold and the ache and the promise. Pain pinches through you, but so does something else: a small, stubborn spark of hope for Chenle.
End of flashback
-
Leaning away from the tree, after absorbing some knowledge, you look around the night sky and realize that you haven't yet found out what year it is, but you think it is 2027, just because of the 'technical' stuff that you see around. Still in your hospital garment, you walk along a sidewalk that's supposedly made for people and you notice how they dress- sleek, modern but alien. You're sticking out like an odd thumb - with bandages over your pale legs and a patient clothes hanging loose. So you close your eyes and speak to the air. "Where can I find clothes? Is it safe to heal myself using magic?"
A light breeze sweeps past you, guiding you alongside a different path, and it's almost like you get the answer to sit on the bench and heal yourself. You turn left and right, but this part of the park is vacant. You remove the bandages, feeling the ache and burns of lost patches of skin. You can't heal this scars with normal magic... the disappointed look of your father disappears from your mind, as you tap into another source of power... dark magic. You watch your hands slowly glowing red....
Stretching your hands over your feet and ankles, you murmur an incantation. Before long the pain fades and the burns vanish, leaving your skin smooth, unmarked. Still, the clothes remain a problem. People glance at you as you pass, their eyes sharp, curious. You duck into a shadowed alley, touching your thin robe. Eyes shut, you summon the image of a simple dress. Another chant leaves your lips, as you shut your eyes and envision what you want to wear.
"You're using way too much magic."
Your spell falters, speech halts in your throat - eyes snapping open, you peer toward the alley's mouth where neon lights spill across wet pavement. A figure stands there... a silhouette at first. You don't move. He's the one to draw closer to you. Nervously you step back - unaware that your hands... your palms begin to glow an eerie red reflecting your sense to use a spell to hurt him.
"It's all right," the man says quickly, raising his hands. "I'm not a threat. I'm like you."
You say nothing, muttering under your breath. "Dur ma son ge hae." He hears it anyway.
One sharp clap and your body freezes. "I'm like you," he repeats, softly. "I'm not here to harm you. Sense me. You'll see."
Unable to move, you do as he says, studying him. And then you feel it, his aura, like your own. You've never been able to 'sense' anyone like you before... but the familiarity of your father's aura around him, gives you some form of... relief. From scanning him, you can tell that he's magic is a little weaker in comparison to yours... just like your father. Not only that... but you notice a gemstone over his wrist. And the wind whispers reassurance.
"I'm Park Jisung," he says at last, unclasping his hands. The spell melts away and you can move again. "You must be here on Jaemin's orders. It's been so long since he's sent anyone. What did he send you for? Am I involved?"
His name, and Jaemin's, disarm you. "I have to put this ruby on a man from a university called Jeno… and then kill him."
"Jeno…" Jisung murmurs, brows furrowing. "So Jaemin's finally going through with this?" He speaks more to himself than to you. "His immortality's been weak for long, his powers weak… unless he got the help from a witch... like you." Then he pauses, eyes flicking to your glowing palms. "What year are you from?"
"1637," you firmly state, trying not to show weaknesses. You may be from a year without technoloyg, but you surely have something that technology doesn't have, and that's magic... "Jaemin promised... if I complete this mission, I'll go back to my own time. Back to my lover."
"Then you must complete the ritual." Jisung says slowly, "It's the only way to go back," Jisung smiles with a proud smirk. "And Jaemin will finally be free."
"Ritual?" you echo, lost.
"Jeno's blood is the key. Spill it, and the ritual opens a path back in time. If Jaemin has chosen you as his powerful witch, I'll surely help."
"Listen here." you stop Jisung, who sounds like he's admiring Jaemin too much. "I'm not that well acquainted with Jaemin. I don't even know him, aside from the fact that he's an immortal who can help me. I don't care about his plans and him being free- I just want to quickly finish this and get back to my time, to be with my lover."
"And you will." Jisung nods, assuringly. "The fact that you were able to say an incantation with him, proves that you're worthy. You would've died on the spot. But you survived. You're the one who can end this. If this is real… Jaemin's freedom is within reach." His eyes flash with excitement- but you roll your eyes. He sounds so passionate.
You end up asking. "How did you even find me? You said I was using too much magic?"
"Yes." His expression darkens. "I can track witchcraft and how much is being used. When an imbalance tears through my timeline, I feel it. If it's a threat, I destroy it. If not, I keep watch. Your magic, was clouding the air with darkness. A power I've never seen before. That's how I found you. But not only me, people like Jeno and his men would also be able to sense you. And unlike me, they don't talk too much. They track you, tempt you. Refuse to cooperate with them, then you're nothing but ash."
Your eyes widen.
"But I won't let that happen." He steps closer, palms open. The magic you tried to weave into your clothing flickers. With a few silent gestures, he finishes it for you...a white floral dress, shoes conjured from the air. The dress reminds you of another life, another time... a dress you wore when Chenle... was... still alive. You push the memory away and fall into step beside him.
Jisung’s magic flows without words, seamless. Around you, the city glows strange and bright. People ride hovering boards. Others wear sleek black visors over their eyes, blind yet moving unerringly. The future feels unreal, every question you have swallowed by wonder.
"So tell me," you finally ask, being intrigued. "Do people here know what we are? That we're witches?"
Jisung smirks. "In this time, we don't call ourselves witches or warlocks. We're doctors. Scientists. Biologists. Etcetera. We camouflage ourselves, integrate ourselves in society so that no one can tell."
"So... we're... safe here?” A memory of flames piercing at your skin flashes before you. This time, you make a promise to yourself that you will kill Jeno, so that you can go back in time and be with Chenle - but also allowing yourself not to get caught again and get Chenle killed... never again.
"Not exactly 'safe'," Jisung says quietly. "Technology has made reality easy to forge. People believe what they're shown. That keeps us safe. But draw too much attention, and one of us will kill you. Some of us love this world too much to risk losing it."
Jisung leads you through winding streets lit by holograms and sky-glass, past buildings that stretch endlessly upward like blades of obsidian. The city buzzes with quiet energy, drones hum overhead, people, cars and machine move fast, focused. But no one looks too closely.
Eventually, he stops in front of an old building nestled between two towering structures... a posh structure, half hidden in shadow, with ivy greens creeping up the sides. You pause.
Something about this building catches in your chest. The stone archway. The tall windows. It reminds you... almost painfully... of Chenle’s palace. That same elegance, like time touched it but never broke it.
Jisung notices your hesitation. "It's not some 'brothel' or whatever," he says, chuckling under his breath. "I rent a room here month to month, most of the building is student housing or residency. University kids. Science majors. People trying to outrun rent and responsibility."
"It's..." you enter, and feel so much familiarity. "Beautiful." Obviously a lot has changed... but you wonder if this building could've once upon a time been a castle, a palace to an emperor's son...
Jisung pushes the door open. "No one really notices me. Which is the point."
You follow him inside, the scent of lavender and old wood enveloping you, and for just a breath, you could almost believe you've stepped back into the past. The ceilings are high, the doorways rounded, and the stone tiles under your feet are cracked with age... just like the palace halls you remember from 1637.
But instead of lanterns, soft lights run along the walls, glowing gently and humming like a kind of magic you don't understand. In a nearby room, a screen flashes with images, casting shadows that move like ghosts. The whole place feels familiar… but also filled with something strange and new.
Inside, it smells of lavender and something older... candle smoke maybe, or memory. You follow him up a narrow staircase, your footsteps muffled by an orange carpet.
"I stay here," Jisung says, pushing the door open with a wave of his hand to a normal room. "It's not much, but it's protected. The owner owes me a few favors."
His room is small but warm. A single bed, a desk cluttered with a laptop and book, and a window that frames the neon-lit sky.
"You can take the bed," he says, tossing you a key. "Lock the door from inside. I still have some errands to run and also make sure that no one's picked up your trail." He hesitates, glancing at you. "Get some rest. I'll help you find Jeno in the morning."
You nod, grateful in a quiet, guarded way. As he steps into the hallway, you watch as he disappears in plain sight. He's gone.
You stand there for a moment, letting the silence settle around you. You sit on the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight. As your head meets the pillow and your eyes drift closed, the city fades...
And the past rushes in.
-
1637 – Flashback/Dream
The night is cool. Lanterns flicker behind the palace windows, their light stretching long across the marble floors. Your slippers make no sound as you walk.
The guards stationed outside the Prince's chambers nod at your approach. You bow low, as before, and whisper the same words. "The Princess requested I dim the lights."
They step aside without questions, because it's the same thing over and over again. You've come here almost every night.
The door closes behind you with a soft click. The room is lit with a gentle glow. Chenle lies on his stomach, half covered by a silk sheet. The wrappings on his back are gone, likely tossed aside in discomfort. What's left of the wound is exposed... raw, pink, but better than it was. You can see the edges are beginning to knit together.
He's asleep, but lightly. The kind of rest that illness brings uneasy, shallow, disturbed sleeps. But you're here again to prevent any illness. You've been doing this for almost a week now. Slowly healing preserving his health. You cross the room quietly and kneel beside his bed.
You don't know what it is that draws you to this moment. Pity? Compassion? Something deeper? Something terrifying? You only know that you have to touch him again.
So you do. Not boldly. Just barely. Your fingers hover near the wound, then lower with practiced care. The magic hums in your blood again, gentle, alive. You whisper the same ancient words, softer this time. Just enough to ease him.
"Sana dorsum eius, Mater Natura, per aerem tuum..."
The energy flows from your fingertips into him, not enough to draw suspicion, but enough to soothe the ache beneath his skin. His breath slows. His body relaxes.
But then-
"Fein." Your ears latch onto the words -and rapidly before you can pull away, his hand snaps up- he grabs your wrist. Your mouth shuts closed and you jerk up. Your heart stutters. You look up and find his eyes open, glinting gold in the low light.
But there's no anger in them.
Just… wonder. You gulp and try not to say anything - hoping you can recite a spell out loud that will make him sleep.
"You..." he says softly, his voice still rough with sleep. "You're the one who came to me last night... and the night before. Now I know I wasn't dreaming."
You try to pull away- heart beating fast and you're so nervous. This is it. You've been caught- and now you're going to die! Your uncle warned you- your father warned you. Why weren't you careful? And on top of that you were caught by the prince! "Forgive me, my Prince. I only meant to—"
"You were healing me." He doesn't let go. His grip isn't harsh, but steady. His eyes search yours. "With magic."
Your breath catches. He should be furious. He should be calling for the guards, while you throw yourself at his mercy, begging to be spared for what you are. A fein- an evil spawn- A maid who knows forbidden things...
But he just watches you... for a long time. Then, finally, he releases your wrist. You're tempted to run, but stay in place by his voice... "I should be afraid of you," his voice comes out quietly. "Especially since I'm injured..." he says. "But I'm not scared. Weird isn't."
You blink, you being afraid.
"What are you?" His gaze drifts over your appearance and then back on your eyes. "Answer me." he whispers.
You hesitate. Then speak the truth you've never spoken aloud. "A witch."
The word hangs between you like a confession. He looks back at you. "So, you're not just a maid, but... a witch?"
"I am a maid... but also a witch."
His lips curl, just faintly, into something resembling a smile, but you're trembling boxed heart feels like it'll finally pop. "I thought I was hallucinating the first time... Seeing you.... Hearing your voice in the dark. The way the pain dulled like it was being drawn out of me..." His eyes close for a moment, then reopen. "Why help me? You could've gotten in a lot of trouble, should the guards or someone noticed what you were doing."
You don't answer right away. You don't have the words for it. But you watch him...
"In my lifetime... I've seen witches in the battlefield. They tear men apart with a whisper. I've seen them turn water to fire, blood to dust. Casted spells and bewitching people to get there ways. You could literally do the same thing to me in a blink of an eye."
"I'm not like them." Your eyes drop- trying to assure you, but you're still nervous to speak out of turn. "I don't... I would never cast a spell on anymore. Or make them do what they don't want... I don't use my magic to get what I want... I promise you I'm not like them My Prince."
There's a silence that follows, not awkward, but full of unsaid things. Full of questions neither of you dares ask. He shifts with a quiet grunt, trying to sit up. You're quick to lean forward, hand pressing gently against his arm. You instinctively reach to steady him, and he doesn't stop you. "Indeed, you're not."
When you do, he looks at you again. Your breath hitches as your cheeks strike up a color.
"Don't move," you whisper, "You'll open the wound."
"I don't care," he murmurs, voice strained but low. "I've been lying down too long…"
He tries again, but winces. Without thinking, you move closer, sliding an arm behind his back. His breath hitches as your hand brushes bare skin, warm and scarred. "Let me help," you whisper.
You feel the muscles in his back tense beneath your touch as you carefully ease him upright. His hair brushes your cheek. Your breath catches. He exhales slowly, now sitting up against the pillows you rearranged.
"Thank you," he says, voice barely above a breath. "For healing my back."
You nod, afraid to speak, afraid to let your voice out.
"Why didn't you heal me completely?" he asks, looking in between both your eyes. "Are you not strong enough?"
You look up to him once, and then back to your trembling hands. "Didn't want to draw suspicion My Prince,"
He chuckles a little. "I'm not asking this as your prince, nor as a soldier... but as a man lying bare before someone he shouldn't trust but somehow does." he speaks... causing your trembling hands to slowly remain calm. You gulp, looking away from his eyes, catching him trying to get you to look at him. "Will you stay-" but upon his question, you become hesitant again. He adds gently. "Until morning?”
Your heart swells, but you say nothing. Instead, you fold your hands in your lap and nod. And for the first time that night, Prince Chenle closes his eyes, not from pain, but peace. But... you're surprised when he opens his eyes again.
"Tell me about yourself," he says, voice low and steady, eyes still on you.
You freeze. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You're not used to being asked that, not by anyone, let alone a prince. Let alone him. You lower your eyes, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve.
"There's nothing to tell, my Prince,” you murmur. "I'm just a maid." The silence that follows isn't awkward. It stretches as you sit there, fingers still in your lap, stealing glances every few moments, until finally, he speaks again.
"Don't lie," he says gently, a light smile over yours. "Not after tonight." His gaze softens further. "And don’t call me that."
You glance up, startled. "But... you're the Prince. I can't address you with anything else but that,"
"I don't want you to bow to me," he says, voice quiet. "Not tonight. Not here at least."
You look up at him, startled. "But—"
"Right now, I'm just a man with a bad wound and a strange girl beside him, who somehow made it stop hurting." His lips twitch into something between a smile and a sigh.
You glance at him, then away again. "I don't know why I did," you whisper. "Maybe I'm foolish."
"No," he says. "You're brave."
The words settle deep in your chest like something warm, something fragile. You look down at your hands and whisper, "I wasn't supposed to speak to you. Let alone... sit beside you."
He shifts, slowly, resting more comfortably on the pillow. "Well, I wasn't supposed to be fascinated by a maid who can do impossible things, but here we are."
Your breath catches. "You're teasing me."
"I'm just a man with a bad wound. So speak to me like I'm him. Just him. Not Prince. Just me... Chenle.”
It takes you a long moment to gather the courage. But eventually, you whisper, "Chenle." His name feels strange on your tongue, both foreign and forbidden... but he smiles at the sound of it.
"There," he says. "That wasn't so hard. What's your name?"
You sit beside the bed with your hands in your lap, unsure about... this.
But he waits. Patient, curious. So you tell him your name. And slowly the night unfolds. Hesitant at first, voice small, telling him little things; where you grew up, how your mother taught you to braid herbs into cloth to cure fevers, how your father warned you to never let anyone know what you were. How you wanted to end up at the palace, how your magic had always been quiet... until him.
"So... you used magic on me?" he smiles lowly, but you shake your head.
"No." you lean back a little. "I used my magic to make all the potential buyers look away from me. But when you came, I didn't do anything. You looked my way, and I wanted to see what you thought at first glance."
"Ah," he smiles. "So I... chose you,"
"By your own free will," you chuckle a little.
He listens closely, every word. Not with the politeness of someone humoring a servant, but with the attentiveness of someone who wants to know you... really know you.
Sometimes he laughs, and you find yourself smiling more than you should. You're making the Prince laugh... Other times he asks you questions, simple ones, but they make your heart skip, like when he asks what your favorite flower is, or what kind of dreams you have when you're not afraid. You forget to be scared because there's no room for fear, even though he's royalty, right now you see him for who he is, and not his title.
And when you laugh, actually laugh, bright and unguarded, his eyes widen slightly, like he wasn't expecting it, like he wants to hear it again.
You talk until your voice grows soft from use. And somewhere in between your stories, he begins to share his own stories of childhood mischief, of sneaking out past curfew, of his father’s harsh expectations, and the weight of a crown he never asked to wear. He speaks like he's never had someone to talk to... really talk to... and you listen like you've never been trusted before. He tells you about the night before his first battle. How scared he was, but he just wanted to make his father proud. How cold the wind felt against his armor. How he doesn’t want to be remembered as a warrior, but as someone who protected something worth loving.
That catches you off guard. You look at him differently... not as a prince, not even as a man, but as someone who feels lonely in the same way you do.
By the time the candle burns low, you've helped him lay back down on the bed, while your legs are tucked beneath you, closer to him now than when you started. His arm rests over the side of the bed, hand just inches from yours. Neither of you moves.
"It's the first time in a long time I feel like... I'm not carrying the world."
You glance over at him. "It's the first time in a long time I feel like I'm not hiding from it."
The silence that follows isn't empty. It's full of warmth. Full of something soft and unspoken. His fingers brush yours, just barely. You pull away and quickly remember your place...
And when the first traces of dawn begin to paint the sky through the palace window, you're still there, sitting beside him, smiling quietly to yourself, feeling something bloom in your chest that feels dangerously close to hope.
He closes his eyes again, just before the light fully comes, and whispers your name like it's something precious. "Thank you for staying the night."
-End of flashback
You hear birds tweeting, humming softly, and your eyes flutter open to the unfamiliar ceiling. You look around you, wondering where Chenle is- your heart tugs in confusion, and then it sinks... as you remember that he was killed because of loving you... and you remember that you're no longer in 1637, but 2027 and have a mission to complete.
You’re supposed to be focused. You sit up slowly, cold air brushing your skin. The bed isn't yours. Jisung's room. But he's not here. He left sometime last night, and the silence feels heavier without him. You get to your feet, getting your shoes on, and after using the strange bathroom.
... You end up leaving his room - when you heart the sounds of something so beautiful and melodic...
It's like following a alluring scent, only except it's music that's so beautiful. You've never heard anything like it. You go down a hallway - moving like you're being led to a hotspot. Eventually you make it to an area that's spacious in size, it's filled with couches on different side, mini tables and chairs around, it serves as a resting area and even study center, but amongst that, at the far end, you see one person, and a weird large looking table.
Seated on a stool and seemingly creating that sound, is a guy. The melody and vibrant out through the room has you going closer until you're beside the guy. On the weird looking table there's black and white little rectangles... whenever he presses on it with his fingers a sound comes out.
He doesn't stop playing, even when you're beside him admiring it up close and hearing and seeing how fast his fingers move over the notes. Until you see that he's eyes are closed, but it's not only that... your heart drops completely when seeing the familiar features on the man's face.
Your breath stutters... you know that profile. Those... lips... that jawline... Him-
Your eyebrows twist, your lips part and you can literally feel your heart elevating wanting to pop out of your chest. "Chenle?" You breath out-
Yet that's enough for the guy to jolt- snapping his eyes open and peering towards you. He's equally as confused - but then holds his chest and breathes out. "Ah, you scared me." his eyes widen and then a little smile grows. "Hey, you're awake." he looks at you up and down, his face with such content, almost mirroring his gaze. "Wow, you're... really here."
He stands up with such a wide smile over his features. You could cry from how... alive and handsome he is. His eyes go between yours, there's so much happiness and a hint of longing. He looks just like your Chenle- smiles just like him... and then you remember Jaemin's words... doppelgänger... Could this guy be Chenle's lookalike? There's no time to even weigh the options, because you're so full of happiness that you reach your hands out to his chest and then your eyes brim with tears before you embrace him in a deep longing hug. A choked cry leaves your throat, and as though you never mourned Chenle, you cry and hold him tight. Even if he's not your Chenle- and a doppelgänger, you feel so connected to him, even more since he wraps his arms around, securely, tightly and like your Chenle did- safely.
Meanwhile, Chenle's smile is a bit confused by how you're embracing as well as crying - he should be the one crying. His heart aches a bit when hearing your cry. "It's alright baby, I'm here. And you're back... Oh my goodness... you're so warm. I love you baby,"
"I love you too Chenle, with all my heart. So much," You chuckle a little and look up to him. "Who's a baby?" your hands gently and carefully going up to his face as you caress him. "You're really alive?"
He holds your hand in his and kiss the inside of your palm, his eyes shine with tears, but he's strong not to release it, but instead caress you hand over his face. "I've missed you. You have no idea..." This is already the best feeling being reunited with Chenle, however when he holds your face gently in his hands, and leans in connecting your lips with his, your heart explodes with joy. He's not just like your Chenle, but he could pass off as him. You kiss him softly, with your hands running up his neck and in between his hair- your heart shattering at being connected with him again.
When you break apart, you rest your heads against his each other. You can think of nothing else but this moment, this reunion, you don't even want to think of whether this is real or not. "Chenle," you can only whimper his name in happiness.
"I'm here," he smiles and also runs his hands over your head. "My beautiful, precious..." he kisses your forehead and then holds your hands.
"You played so beautifully?" you acknowledge, once you've stopped your tears.
"It brought you to literal tears. Did I wake you?" he holds onto your hand and spins you into his hug before directing you to some place. That's when you realize that in this future... since he recognized you, that you and him are together. It's a beautiful revelation. "But I have to head to the doctors orders. You should be resting... how do you feel?"
"I feel... good. Happy, really happy." your eyes over his features again only cause you such love that you lean into his hold and hug him tighter. "You're alive," you whisper.
Chenle holds you closer to him, "I miss you so much," your embrace being something he's missed. "Don't worry I've got it," he says as he opens the room door. "I'll get you some water and meds, you can just get back on the bed,"
You smile faintly, doing as he says, feet quiet as you step into the room. But the moment your eyes land on the bed— You freeze.
Someone is already lying there.
Your breath catches in your throat. It's not just anyone. It's... YOU. Your knees nearly buckle as you inch closer. Your body. Your face. Asleep, peaceful, untouched, almost unreal. Like time itself had split in two. Your pulse thunders in your ears. You blink hard, half-expecting the vision to vanish. But it doesn't. "What do I do?" you whisper. The words tumble out, barely formed, over and over again. "What do I do, what do I do..."
You stand beside the bed for a long moment, the silence unbearable, until your hands move on their own. Gently, carefully, you pull the blanket higher, tucking it around the sleeping version of yourself until even your face is hidden from view. You place your palms together, hover them above the covered figure, and begin to murmur the incantation. Each syllable trembles from your lips, heavy with meaning. With farewell.
Then, quietly, you step out of the room. The door clicks shut behind you. And then your head snaps around when hearing a baby's cry. Your brows furrow...
Your ears triggered by the sounds and where it's coming from, toward an open door. Heart already racing for another reason entirely. You follow the soft cries down the short hallway to the source. Chenle is standing there. His arms cradle a small bundle, his hand gently patting the baby's back. His expression is tired but soft—tender, even.
"Sorry," he says quietly, glancing at you with a small, almost shy smile. "She just woke up."
You move toward him, drawn in like gravity, eyes wide with something between awe and confusion. Before you can even ask- before your voice can catch up with your thoughts—Chenle turns the now-calmed baby in his arms, speaking to her in a gentle coo.
"Look, sweetheart," he murmurs. "Mummy's here."
Your breath stops.
Your eyes flood with warmth, lips parting in disbelief. You raise a hand slowly to cover your mouth as you stare down at the baby... your baby. "M-mummy?" A quiet sound escapes your throat. The kind of sound that's made when love rushes in all at once. Because there, in Chenle's arms, with her sleepy lashes and soft cheeks and the faintest pout that almost matches his— Is the life you never dared to hope was real. And she's looking right at you.
"My baby?" you look at Chenle, and the grin over his face is joyful. "Can I..."
"Of course, Zhuo's seriously... missed you the most. He gestures for you to sit, motioning toward a cushioned white chair. "Just in case you feel dizzy," he adds, already cradling the baby with both arms.
Once you're seated, he gently passes her into your embrace. The moment she's in your arms, everything in you softens. Your breath is from the depths of your soul... you were literally put on a stake, unable to have your baby and at the same time you lost the man you loved... but now here... they're all here.
"We made this baby?" you breathe, eyes wide with wonder.
Chenle crouches beside you, hand sliding to your back, the other resting over yours. "Mummy and daddy's baby," he smiles. "She's the calmest she's ever been."
You can barely speak. The emotions are overwhelming—Chenle is alive, this baby is real, you're still in love, and somehow... this is your life. "Chenle," you whisper, voice tight with emotion. You look down at your daughter. "Hi, baby... hi."
She nestles closer to your touch, soft and trusting. You swallow the lump in your throat.
“My two beautiful girls,” Chenle murmurs. His gaze lingers on you, eyes glassy with affection. "I could watch you forever..." Chenle leans his head over your arm, eyes locked on you, cherishing you. "But I have to go to work." he sighs and then stands up. "Why don't you rest?"
"What about the baby?" You hold the baby a little tighter.
Chenle nods toward the hallway. "I'll ask Mrs. Jung to check in, but you can rest, okay?"
You shake your head gently. "No it's okay, I've got it," you say. "Let me... let me keep her. I want to feel this. I want to remember every second..."
He leans down and kisses your lips. It's soft and full of understanding. Then he ruffles your hair affectionately before heading out of the nursery. Your eyes follow him—making sure the illusionment spell over the sleeping body still holds. When he enters the bedroom, he won’t see anything unusual. Just a made bed. Just a peaceful morning. A minute later, he returns, dressed sharply: black slacks, crisp black shirt, and a white coat. He grabs his bag from the table and turns to you, smiling like a man who has everything.
"I'll finish early today, and come straight home." he promises. "I love you,"
"I love you too,"
You rise to meet him, and your lips find his. It starts as a gentle kiss—but then lingers, his mouth pressing a little deeper into yours. Your heart flutters. He doesn't stop either, until you chuckle when feeling how he gets closer- almost pinching the baby between you both. "You're going to be late,"
"Then stop kissing me," he teases—though he’s the one still kissing you.
You both chuckle, noses brushing, until finally you pull away for real. Chenle gives a playful grunt of protest, then kisses the baby's head and your lips once more before heading to the door.
"See you soon," he says, waving. And then he's gone,leaving you and your daughter wrapped in the warmth of something you never thought you’d have: A real future.
Once Chenle is on the other side of the door, he leans against the wall, his eyes moist with tears at the thought of you being back... alive and with him. After composing himself and his emotions, he begins to head out the building and towards the parking. He enters his car - but before he can even turn the ignition he just remembers your smile, and the purity and love in your eyes, and he's undone again. He shuts his eyes, wondering how he'll make it throughout the day with the thoughts of you being at home and he can come home and you'll still be there. There's a moment of complete stillness in the car, as he wonders if he should just come out and call in sick and get an off day.... however when remembering why else he's going today, he starts the engine.
Before work, he makes a stop at the University of Excellence, where Professor Lee, a renowned biologist and one of his most trusted friends, works. Walking down the familiar halls, he spots the man stepping out of the staff room, coffee in hand.
"Professor Lee!" Chenle calls out.
"Ah, Chenle," the older man greets him warmly, falling into step beside him. "Just the man I was hoping to see. But first—how are you?"
"I'm... ecstatic," Chenle says with a grin, the thought of you filling him up again. As they step into an empty lecture hall, Chenle closes the door behind them. "And come on, we can drop the formalities—Jeno. I've got incredible news."
But Jeno's expression shifts. "And I've got a serious concern."
Chenle's brow furrows. "What happened?"
Jeno, then sits on his desk as Chenle puts his hands in his pockets. "Want to explain why your wife was wandering around last night—barefoot, confused, with scorched feet—outside the hospital?" Chenle's head tilts to the side, confused. But Jeno continues. "I thought I told you that once she's woken up you call me, or even tell me,"
"Uh," Chenle blinks, stunned. "That wasn’t her. She was asleep with me the whole afternoon and night. She only woke up this morning—that's the news I came to share.”
Jeno pauses, eyes narrowing. "You're sure?"
"One hundred percent. And besides, didn't you say she'd wake up in about a week?"
"I did." Jeno says, rubbing the back of his neck. Something feels off. "I clearly remember treating burns on her feet myself. She was disoriented. Almost dissociative. She ran away before I could even speak to her."
"Couldn't have been her," Chenle shakes his head, clearly having strong memory. "She was perfectly fine when she woke up. No burns, no confusion—well, except she didn't recognize Zhou at first. Is that normal? Amnesia?”
"No. I programmed the clone with all her memories, as if nothing happened." Jeno goes quiet. "You said... it's like she knows she died?"
Chenle nods. "She looked at me like... like she remembered losing everything. It wasn’t just affection. It was deep. Like grief turned to relief. And trust me, I know how I look at her. But today... she looked at me the same way."
Jeno stares at him, thoughtful. "Bring her in tonight. Six o'clock. At my place, not the lab. I want to run some checks."
They part ways. Jeno watches Chenle leave, mind buzzing with unanswered questions. Something isn’t adding up. Meanwhile, Chenle walks out feeling nothing but awe. You’re alive. You're in his arms again. After weeks of drowning in grief—you're home. He remembers when he first lost you. One night, you were there. The next, you were gone. He never even told your parents. Couldn’t.
You always said, if I die, give my body to science. He did. And when Jeno proposed his cloning trial—using your DNA, your brainwave data, your essence—Chenle hesitated. It was risky. Unethical. But after a week of aching without you, he gave in. He couldn’t live in a world where you didn’t exist.
And now here you are.
"God, she looked beautiful today," he thinks aloud, smiling to himself. That white dress, your hair, your laugh. This time, he's not going to waste a second. You're back. He's in love. And he's never letting go again.
Meanwhile, inside the house, you pace back and forth, gently patting the baby's back until she finally drifts off. Once she's asleep, you lay her down with care, then retreat to the bedroom... eyes flicking toward the still form on the bed. Jaemin told you to avoid your doppelgänger. Stay away, he said. But you've ignored that rule. You can't help it. You're envious of the life she... that you have in this timelines.
A dark thought whispers: You could kill her. Hide the body. Take her place.
But then you remember why you're here. This mission. Jaemin's promise to give you back Chenle.... And yet… this Chenle isn't a prince weighed down by duty. He isn't guarded, distant, or living behind palace walls. He has a job. A modest home. He laughs. He's free. You're torn between the past and this strange present as you stand over the sleeping body on the bed. Finally, you pull the blanket back. Something feels wrong.
You shake her, but she doesn't wake. Her skin budges under your touch, but her eyes stay shut. Frowning, you open the window, let the wind swirl in, and murmur an incantation to stir her. Slowly, the body's eyes flicker open... but they're unfocused, like a pigeon's. They don't look at you and they're on either side.
"Hello?" you whisper... you thought that maybe if you touched her head, you could absorb who she is here with Chenle so that you could... fake being her for some time.
But there's no response. A shiver crawls down your spine. You press your palms to her temples, closing your eyes. The way you did with the tree's wisdom, you try with her, reaching inward, seeking something, anything. However... all you find is emptiness. A blank slate. When you open your eyes again, her eyes are still wide open, staring at nothing. She isn't a person. She's… a vessel.
"What are you?" You demand, not understanding whether she's a person or machine. "What happened to you?"
At that, her eyes come back to focus on you. "I am Y/n 0.1." You're stunned to hear that... flat, mechanical, without warmth.
"0.1? What does that mean?"
"I'm the first prototype to imitate and live as Y/n."
Your eyebrows furrow. "Why?"
"To serve as a companion to Zhong Chenle and Zhong Zhou." you recognize what she's saying, but it sounds like she's disattached. Prototype? You're so confused - and then you're confusion flutters when hearing a knock on the door. You speak and the spell lifts up, letting the body rest back on the bed as though it's always been sleeping peacefully.
You intend to ignore it the knocking on the door, already feeling the energy of the person behind the door. Yet the knocking doesn't seize - until even Zhou, your baby whimpers a little tired cry. You quickly walk over to her crib picking her up, before you move to the door and pull it open.
Jisung. He's looking at you with wide eyes of horror. "There you are!" he stresses out and enters with panic. "I was so- what are you doing here? You've got a mission and you just disppeared from my room."
"I can't leave." You simply say. "I've got a baby to look after."
It's when Jisung notices the baby you're carrying. "Let me guess, you've met your doppelgänger?" his voice rises. "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? Did Jaemin not tell you the rules?"
"He did." you say, not wanting to think of that. "But I don't care."
"You don’t understand," Jisung snaps. "This isn't your world. This isn't your timeline. You can't—"
You walk past him, placing the baby back in her crib. Whispering a protection spell over her, you close the door and turn back to him.
"I know you mean well," you say softly, but there's steel under it. And Jisung feels he energy subtly changing. "But feel for me. In the past, I lost my lover. Jaemin promised to bring him back if I succeeded. But here…" Your voice wavers. "Here my lover is alive. Here I'm a mother. My doppelgänger is practically brain-dead. Do you know how lucky she is? In my time I'm burning at the stake. What if I fail my mission? What if I die again? Here I have a chance. Just for today— let me have it."
Jisung looks at you like you’re insane. "Do you even know who Jaemin really is?"
"I don't care what he is," you snap. "He's trapped. He told me I can take my time. So I am."
"It won't work," Jisung warns. He raises his hand- and you get shocked. You see it coming, the silent casting of a spell, and throw out your own hands, speaking your incantation aloud. Jisung staggers, clutching his chest. You step closer, voice steady, power thrumming in your bones.
"I had time to think, about what you meant when you said I'm a powerful witch. I don't know about powerful, but I do know that I'm from 1637. The difference between me and you, is that I'm a pure blood, nature decent. I don't cheat, and say spells in my head- I'm one with nature. I am nature."
You say another incantation and Jisung wheezes choking on his own. And you literally feel all that power over your bones.
"I am nature. Every word I chant carries the weight of earth and air and fire. Nature is strong. That makes me strong."
Your palms glow red. The mark on your wrist, three tiny skulls, flares like embers. With one clap, you know, you could kill him. You don't intend on doing dark magic, but it already seems infused... Jaemin's power is... dark magic.
The glow fades. Your voice softens. "I'll need your help to find Jeno. But for now, let me have this moment. Please." Jisung pants, trembling, but he doesn't argue. You nod to the door. "Leave. You're ruining my view."
When he's gone, you return to the nursery. You watch over Zhou, whispering to the winds, tasting this life you were never meant to have. When you need Jisung, you’ll find him. For now, she’s yours. And so is Chenle.
You're reminded of a time in the past with your Chenle. After he had healed up completely and was ready to be off bedridden duty- he personally made it a mission to seek you.
Flashback.
"My Prince!" you whisper yell, when he sneaks up behind you in one of the hallways while you were turning off the lanterns. He smiles and laughs quietly, boyish sound muffled by the stone corridor walls.
"Shhh, you'll wake the whole palace," he whispers, stepping closer. There's a playfulness in his voice, but also something softer beneath it- like he's just happy to be near you again.
You press a hand over your chest. "You scared me."
"I know." He grins, his eyes bright under the low flame of the last lantern. "But you should've seen your face."
You roll your eyes and try to keep moving down the corridor, but he follows. He always does. Ever since he recovered, he's been appearing everywhere you are; quiet gardens, corridors, the kitchens, even the library where you once went just to avoid him. You’d think a prince would have better things to do.
But you don't mind. Not really. "Shouldn't you be resting?" you ask over your shoulder.
"I rested for weeks. I'm going mad just sitting and being served all day." He slows beside you, matching your steps. "I'd rather be here."
"With me?" you tease, glancing up at him.
"With you." He says it like it's the most obvious truth in the world. And maybe it is. "You're very interesting."
The corridor grows quieter as you move further into the empty wing, your footsteps the only sound. The soft glow of lantern light paints golden shadows across his face— his sharp cheekbones, the gentle curve of his mouth, his eyes, always watching you too closely. Too sincerely.
"Why?" you finally ask, stopping at the next lantern. "Why are you always looking for me?"
He watches your fingers as you snuff out the flame, then leans back against the stone wall. "I wanted to thank you," he says after a long moment. "You stayed with me when I was sick. After the first night... you didn't have to. But you did."
You shrug lightly. "You were kind to me... and not exposing my secret. And… I wanted to." You think back to how you kept visiting him night after night.
He doesn't say anything at first, just studies your face. And then, gently: "That night, when I was feverish… I thought I saw you cry."
You chuckle, and so does he. "I didn't cry. I thought you were dying."
"I was," he says. "According to the healers, I'm not supposed to heal so fast. And I was supposed to be dead. But look at me now. I heard you whispering to the earth and now I'm hooked. Like you casted a spell on me."
"I didn't." you smile looking into his eyes. If there's one thing you would want him to know, is that you never made him feel things for you... and if he is... it makes you feel warm. Because... it's not one sided.
His words are too close, too intimate. You keep your gaze on the wall, but you feel the warmth of him next to you.
"I know you didn't," he continues quietly, "But when I look at you, I feel like I've known you before. Even before I ever did."
You turn to him with a cheeky smile. "You sound like you're reciting poetry."
"Would that be so bad?" he asks.
"No... just unexpected."
He chuckles under his breath, then grows serious again. "You make this place feel less like a prison."
You blink. For a moment, he’s not the prince. Not the one who carries power, or wears titles like armor. He's just Chenle. The man who almost died. The man who hasn't exposed you. The boy who keeps finding you in hallways. "If I'm caught... this will be a prison."
Your hand brushes his as you reach for the final lantern. He doesn't move away. "May I?" he asks softly, not even saying what he means—but you feel like you know.... "I don't care what you are. I've never felt like this before."
Your heart races. You nod, just once.
His hand lifts to your face, thumb grazing your cheek as he leans in slowly, slowly- like he's asking with every inch. Your breath hitches as your eyes flutter closed.
And when his lips touch yours, it's not grand or forceful. It's gentle. Careful. When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours. You can feel his smile before you see it.
"I think I want to court you," he murmurs.
Your eyes open, wide. "Court me?"
He shrugs, teasing but shy. "Formally. If that’s allowed. Or if you'll let me."
You gulp. "What about the princess?"
"What about her?" Chenle shrugs his shoulders. "I've never even kissed her. And you're the one who makes me feel human.” He looks at you, truly looks at you.
You can't help a little chuckle. "You are human."
He rolls his eyes playfully. "I'm happy you've stopped seeing me as royalty. It makes me feel even more humanier... Say yes. I want to court you."
You lean up just slightly, your lips brushing his again. “Yes.”
End of flashback.
-
"I'm back."
Chenle's voice echoes gently through the apartment as he closes the door behind him, setting his keys on the table. He toes off his shoes with a soft sigh, already loosening the collar of his white coat as he walks further inside. The scent of something warm and rich greets him first — not the usual faint perfume of candles or baby powder, but... food?
He pauses at the threshold of the kitchen, surprised.
You're there, standing over the stove, stirring a small pot with a quiet focus. The table has already been set, and soft instrumental music hums from the speaker in the corner.
Chenle blinks, genuinely taken aback. "You cooked?" His tone is both touched and teasing. He's surprised because... you've always hated the kitchen. "I bought takeout thinking you'd still hate the kitchen."
You glance over your shoulder, stunned for a moment. Okay... so the you in the future hates cooking. Noted. "I.. uhm. I still do, just wanted to try."
He chuckles, crossing the room with that same gentle stride you've come to recognize. "I must've stepped into an alternate universe," he murmurs, setting the takeout in the fridge and then coming over to you on the counter before wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He presses a kiss to the side of your head, warm breath brushing your cheek. "Thank you. You've worked hard."
You hum, relaxing into him for a moment before reaching up to turn off the stove. "How was your day?"
As you both settle down at the table, the takeout forgotten for now, Chenle leans in, resting his elbow on the wood, chin in hand, his eyes soft on you. "It was good," he says with a smile that touches his whole face. "Stressful, but good. Jeno and I are making progress with the other modelled prototype — real progress. It might actually work this time. The simulations didn't crash."
Your eyes tune in more when he mentions the prototype as well as Jeno.... but you let it slide. You listen, genuinely listening... the way he remembers you always used to. Your eyes don't drift. You nod, ask thoughtful questions. Encourage him.
"You're going to do so well," you tell him, reaching across to squeeze his hand. "I believe in you."
And something about the way you say it, the confidence, the quiet affection, makes Chenle stop for a moment. He just looks at you. His throat works around a quiet breath.
"I don't know what I did to deserve this version of you," he says quietly, just being content that you're alive again and that he feels so much. "But I'm... completely in love with you all over again."
You blink, surprised by the sudden weight of emotion in his voice. How is it that he's in love with this timeline version of you who's brain dead? You hid her in Jisung's apartment, but you just wonder how lucky she is.
Then, without waiting, Chenle leans in and kisses you, slow, with a kind of reverence that speaks to how long he's missed you, how much he's craved this exact moment.
"We probably shouldn't go on, Zhou will wake up-" When he pulls back, you smile against his lips, brushing your thumb across his cheek.
"Zhou's still sleeping," you whisper, and that brings a small laugh out of him, a soft, fond sound.
"Really?" he grins. While you were gone... he couldn't get her to nap longer than forty minutes. You both share a laugh, the kind that lingers. A small pocket of peace.
Later, after dinner is cleared, you ask, "What do you want to do for the rest of the evening?"
Chenle taps his fingers on the table. "Actually... Jeno invited us over."
Your smile falters ever so slightly. There it is again. "Jeno?"
Not missing your expression, Chenle smiles gently. "Doctor Lee. You remember him, right?"
Your eyes widen. You gasp out in shock... "I know him?"
Chenle mistakes your silence for confusion. "He's not weird or anything," he assures you with a chuckle. "He helped a lot after... everything."
"Do you want to come with?" Chenle asks, brushing your hand with his. "If you're too tired, I'll just go—"
"No," you say quickly. If you go with him now, then you'll get to finally meet this Jeno person. And hopefully when the time is right, you'll kill him. "I'll come."
That this quiet, perfect moment in the warmth of your home... might not last forever. But you ignore it for now. You have Chenle. You have Zhuo. You have this life.
-
The fact that you're sitting inside a moving mechanical carriage doesn’t surprise you. Cars aren't strange anymore. What surprises you is the way Chenle drives it, calm, precise, like he’s guiding a horse-drawn carriage instead of a machine. His fingers rest loose on the steering wheel, his eyes soft but alert.
You're still staring out the window when you ask, "So… why does Jeno want us to come over?"
"Some tests. Checkups." Chenle's voice drops a little. "He said something crazy yesterday… claimed he saw you wandering at the beach. Burned feet."
Your eyebrows furrow again. Your mind is trying to think of everyone who saw you... but all you can remember is the doctors... and then a face of a man comes to your mind. "Wait… his name is also Doctor Lee?"
Chenle nods. That means, you've already met Jeno before. You sink back in the seat, your hand covering your mouth. So many questions erupt from your mind about Jeno and also about why Chenle is so close to him... but your questions don't form any words.
"Hey," Chenle’s voice softens. "You okay?"
"Never better," you say quickly, forcing a small smile. "Why?"
He looks at you for a long second. Chenle knows his wife, but at the same time... he's not expecting this clone to be 100% you. He just..... "Nevermind it,"
You reach over, laying your hand on his where it rests on the wheel. "I'm okay," you repeat.
And the rest of the car ride is silent. Your thoughts try to remain calm but before you know it, your hand starts to tremble... you don't want to kill Jeno. Killing Jeno would mean that you'd go back... and although you want to go back. You don't want... to lose Chenle. What if Jaemin can't hold his own end of the bargain? Or what if you go back but Chenle and you can't be together? He was planning to run away- but how sure are you that the plan would even be successful?
Beside you, Chenle glances at you from time to time. You’re shivering slightly, staring out the window with a faraway look. He’s asked already if you’re comfortable, if you even want to go. Each time, you’ve said yes.
Meanwhile besides you, Chenle takes notice of how you're shivering and looking out the window in deep thought. He senses something is wrong but doesn't know what to ask. He's already asked if you're okay, comfortable and even if you want to go- you answered positively to all those questions. So when he finally stops, at the foot of Jeno's mansion, he turns to you-
"Babe, what's wron—"
You cut him off, pressing your hands to his temples. "I'm sorry. But I have to do this." The incantation slips from your lips before you can stop yourself. The red glow indicating dark magic as well as Jaemin's power leaves your hands and slides into him. Chenle's pupils dilate, his breath stills. He stares at you, waiting.
You've never controlled anyone before, never forced them to speak against there will. Yet, here you are, forcing Chenle to be under your control. You try to justify yourself that it's for a short while... but the guilt of forcing the love of your life is eating you.
You sniff and gather control over yourself. "Okay, just breath," you tell yourself and then face him. "Tell me..." you don't even know what to ask. You just went on a limp and now you're nervous. "Who is Jeno? Is he a witch or something?" if you can find out why you need to kill Jeno, maybe you'll...
Chenle answers flatly, honestly. "No. He's a scientist."
You bite your lip... maybe that's true to Chenle, but you're not too sure, especially considering what Jisung said about Jeno. "Then what did you mean by checkups? I'm fine. Well... she's brain dead..." You remember your doppelgänger on the bed.
“I told him you woke up today,” Chenle says. "He said you weren't supposed to. He swore he saw you yesterday—”
"Yeah, but checkups for what? Was I in an accident or what?"
You watch him stiffen before his lips move. "You died."
The words hit you like a blade. Your eyes pausing between both his eyes... "I... died?"
"I couldn't live without you," Chenle continues. "So I… asked Jeno to clone you. And he did. You're still supposed to be in hibernation, but you're awake too early. That's what the check ups are for."
Tears blur your vision. "I died?" Your voice cracks.
Your heart splinters all over again — not just for you, but for him. In your world, you lost him. Here, he lost you.
"So you cloned me. That's why she was so braindead. How did he bring me back to life?"
"Not back to life," Chenle corrects softly. "He uploaded your consciousness into the clone. You're still a prototype. We have to understand how your mind works… why you're remembering so fast. And I also want to know why you're like her... you're not supposed to be."
You choke on a laugh, staring out the window. "Machines. Clones. Is that even legal?"
"I don't care," Chenle says simply. "I just want to be with you." The love he has in his eyes right now, even though he's under your trance, only has your heart beating slower... in pain. You can literally feel and understand the pain he's in.
Your head snaps up when catching movement. A man has stepped out of the house — tall, calm, moving toward the car. Jeno.
You quickly wipe your tears and press your hands to Chenle's head once more, speaking another incantation. The memory slides away from him like water off glass. When you back up, you watch life return to his eyes. You watch the control and literal life come back to him. he shuts his eyes and then hold the steering wheel, before looking to you.
Chenle tries to remember what's going on, and then sees Jeno, he shakes his head. "Feels like I fell asleep for a moment," he smiles, and then holds your hand, remembering that you were nervous. "Don't worry. There's no need to be nervous."
You nod, forcing composure as he gets out and comes around to open your door.
Jeno smiles as you step out, his presence perfectly polite, perfectly normal — but the moment your senses brush against him, you feel it. A dark current under the surface.
"It's good to see you, Y/n," Jeno says warmly. "How are you feeling?"
You match his smile, voice steady even as your heart races. "I'm good." But deep down, you're anything but.
"Welcome, then. Shall we go in?" Jeno gestures to the door, his hand hovering just long enough to make you feel like you’re walking into something you can’t walk back out of.
Inside, the house is warm, quiet... too quiet. It smells faintly of coffee and antiseptic, an unsettling mix of home and hospital... but you're surprised when you smell nature's elements. Earth. Water. Fire... and even air. As if the home is alive with nature.
Jeno leads you both into a sitting area with low leather chairs and a small table already set with tea. He pours three cups with steady hands. "Drink," he says lightly, offering you and Chenle each a cup. "You must be tired."
You take the cup, fingers trembling just enough to make the tea ripple. Chenle places his hand gently on your thigh, assuring you with a comforting smile. "Don't worry, Jeno's not so scary when he's in the hospital."
You smile and nod.
"So," Jeno begins as he sits across from you. "Where were you yesterday?"
Your heart skips. Remembering what Chenle said in the car — the beach, the burns — you freeze. You can't let Jeno know that.. especially since you healed the burns from your feet. "I… don't remember. I think I was sleeping."
Jeno's smile doesn’t falter. He leans back slightly, eyes on yours. "And what's the last thing you remember before waking up today?"
Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. There's nothing you can safely say. Instead, you glance at Chenle. He's smiling at you, soft and encouraging, as if his presence could steady you. "I remember Chenle," you say finally, voice small.
Jeno tilts his head, considering that answer, and for a moment his expression flickers, something sharper, unreadable, before the polite mask slides back into place. "How about Zhuo, did you remember her?" he says quietly.
Your eyes widen slightly. Your daughter. "Of course."
Jeno merely holds a tight smile. "Then let's run a few checks."
Before you can ask what that means, Jeno rises and gestures for you to follow. He leads you down a narrow hallway and through a door into a room that doesn't feel like a home at all... despite the stainless steel counters, machines with blinking lights, a hospital bed at the center of the room... this is where you smell nature the most, even though there's not a hint of a leaf in the room.
"Lay down, please," Jeno says, his tone gentle but leaving no room for refusal.
You glance at Chenle, but he just squeezes your hand. "It's okay," he murmurs. "He just wants to check your vitals."
You climb onto the bed, the paper sheet crackling under you.
"I'll take over from here," Jeno says to Chenle, his back already turned. "It's a simple procedure. I'll call you when I need you."
Chenle hesitates. "You're sure—"
"Yes," Jeno says smoothly, looking at him now. "She'll be fine."
Chenle's fingers brush yours once more, when you squeeze his hand tighter... wanting to will him to stay. But you don't know what will happen if you had to use that magic on him. "I'll be right outside." he kisses the top of your forehead and then he’s gone.
The door clicks shut.
Jeno turns back to you, gloved hands moving with mechanical precision. He opens a laptop and then places some wires to your head and then over your chest. He draws out a syringe — large, glinting under the overhead light, and fits a small bottle of clear liquid to the top.
"This will help you relax," he says. "It'll put you under for a short time so I can access your neural network safely."
You don't move, because you don't even know what that means... You don't even flinch as the needle slides into your arm. The liquid burns coolly for a heartbeat, then nothing. In your head... you call out to the wind that you feel so strongly in the room and ask what you should do- Jeno's eyes snap to you. And you can sense so much energy from him. Did he read your mind? Or hear what you said... in your head? This proves it. He's not human. He's not even a witch. You don't' know what he is. And then you close your eyes. Pretending to sleep. If you can sense him... does it mean he can sense you too?
The room goes quiet except for the soft hum of the machines. You hear Jeno moving, feel the slight adjustment and tug of wires being attached to your temples, your wrists. Then you hear him mutter something under his breath. Not words meant to be heard.... "Devinctus es mihi, Lee Jeno. Nunc et in aeternum." You stay still, eyes closed, heartbeat hammering as you realize... this is exactly the words that Jaemin said. The one's you couldn't understand...
This encounter solidifies it. Jeno is not a human. This is the first time you’re been alone with him. But you don't want to act unprepared. It's in this moment that you don't have the necklace with you or even a strategy. You don't know what you're dealing with...
Something shifts in the ear. Your ears sharpen - hearing bat like sounds flying all over- your heart beat elevates knowing something is terribly wrong. A strange ripple passes through the room—subtle but unnatural. And only in a second when your eyes snap open - you see a sharp weapon rapidly aiming to your heart!
"Desine!" You hold your hand out - willing the foreign object to stop
Across the room, Jeno straightens, lips curled into a smirk. His eyes, once warm, are now pitch black. Unblinking. "I knew you were awake," he says calmly, as if pleased. Before you can move again, his lips part and something ancient spills out- words you don't recognize, but your body does. A pull clamps around your throat - like a rough hand- You stumble back, hands rising as you force out a spell through the pressure, voice raw-
"Absolvo!" (Block)
The invisible grip that was over your neck lifts just enough allowing you to leap from the bed, grounding yourself on the far side of the room, heart hammering in your chest. Your palms glow red-hot, and something burns beneath your skin- your mark, glowing. He lifts his hand again, this time, faster. Another blast hurtles your way, darker than before. The air rips open around it. Your voice is firm. "Desine!" The spell shatters, sparks raining across the lab floor. He circles slightly, eyes never leaving you.
Another strike. You block. Again. Again. Each time, the energy crackles between your hands and his, your defenses glowing brighter with each incantation. You're not just reacting now- you're holding your ground. But something disrupts the peace- The door bursts open with Chenle worried and yells out your name. He looks stunned when he steps into the room - and immediately a streak of violet light whips towards him - but you hold your hands out blocking it from touching Chenle- "Chenle, get out!" you shout.
But before you can reach him, Jeno flicks a single finger. Invisible force slams into Chenle's throat. He's lifted clean off the ground, choking, his legs kicking as the air drains from his lungs.
"No!" Your breath shatters into a sob. "Please! Let him go!"
Jeno chuckles faintly, disbelief. "You think you can sneak into my timeline and play games with me?"
"Stop it!" you scream, your palms flaring red, the mark on your wrist blazing like a brand. You can barely think through the rush of panic. You don't know Jeno or what he might do. For all you know, he could kill Chenle and you don't want that. Not again. Chenle is gasping for life. "Please stop..."
Jeno's smirk grows, but his tone shifts to something colder. "Begging doesn't suit you, little witch. Show me what you're really made of so that we can settle this.”
You hyperventilate, tears running down your face as your arms shake under the weight of the spell you're holding... you want to kill Jeno- but the way he's holding Chenle is scary. If you attack him, he could kill Chenle, just like that. You can't allow that to happen... Chenle's life is on the balance.... but then again... you can just kill Jeno and return back to the past and allow Jaemin to hold up his end of the bargain.
"Please," you whisper, your voice still breaking at the thought of allowing Chenle to die here. "Please don't hurt him... and I won't hurt you."
Chenle's feet barely touch the ground now, his face turning red as Jeno's unseen grip tightens. His hands claw at the air, eyes wide and desperate. Jeno's blackened eyes flick to you. But instead of rage, there's calmness. "From the moment I saw those burnt feet, I knew you were from the past. Let me guess, you met my brother, and he made you a deal. Kill me and... get your love interest back. Right? Otherwise why else would you be worried about Chenle's life here?" he asks, voice low and sharp. "You don't belong here."
"Jaemin's you're brot- Please!" you scream, your voice breaking when Chenle chokes again by the pressure from Jeno. "Please let him go!"
"I can't do that because you've meddled in family affairs. The moment you got yourself involved with Jaemin you brought this upon yourself." Jeno shrugs his shoulders. "And knowing you're from the past, you might be one of those strong witches from nature. Meaning I can't kill you. That if we fight now, I'll be the one to end up dead. And that's what Jaemin wants." Jeno states coldly ignoring your pleas. "And I'm not going to let that happen. So I'll kill Chenle here, that way even when you do kill me and go to the past - he'll still die there."
Your lips tremble. "I don't know what you're talking about— Please don't do that-" His grip on Chenle tightens; purple light sparks at his fingertips. Chenle gasps, a broken sound. "Please... let Chenle go- I'll do anything! I'll do anything just stop! Please-"
"You're a fool for trusting in Jaemin." Jeno's voice drops lower, darker. "And people all associated with him, deserve the same karma. Eternity of pain." Jeno rolls his eyes and then chuckles. "You mean to tell me you saw him hanging from a tree and you didn't wonder why? You went ahead and made a deal with him because of what? Your love for Chenle?" Jeno shakes his head. "That's why he has to die here and now-"
"If you kill him-" You shout- your eyes are bloodshot red just as your palms turn an eerie glow - and instead of crimson red, they turn black. "Then I'll kill you-"
"That's the point."
You don't think- you don't blink - you yell and charge to kill.
"You're even dumber." Jeno sidesteps, weaving through your strikes like wind through grass. He finally lets Chenle go. "You think you can use magic to heal someone from death and nature won't do anything about it?"
You stand in front of Chenle's body on the ground, eyes glaring holes at Jeno who simply dusts his hands- equally looking charged to fight.
"Just so you know. I'm also an immortal, and unlike my brother who can see into the past, I can see into the future." Jeno informs, but you charge right after placing protection spell on Chenle. You don't know what Jeno is yapping about- but all you want to do is kill him. So you speak all sorts of vile incantations thrusting your hands forward blowing tons of wind while sparks leap out from your palms and blows meet air. "And I can tell you, that after what you just did now, there's no future with you and Chenle. Not in this timeline, not in the old timeline. Not ever."
"Shut up." You let all the panic and fury coalesce into motion and surge forward - a blade of intent aimed at his heart.
"Chenle was supposed to die that night after the battle with his father. But you healed him back to life. Breaking the balance, creating a forbidden love. And with forbidden love comes consequences, that nature has to restore. That's why after you brought him back to life, he still died."
Jeno gives insight while also dodging all your attacks - attacks which you strike with pure rage trying to kill him. You chant with each strike - your intentions to kill. The black glow on your hands begin to spread like mist around you. You can't see it- but Jeno watches how your eyes boil into a pitch black darkness. This might be his last time to live - so he makes sure to let you know what deal you made with Jaemin.
"Nature took Chenle back - but then you idiot- stupid and idiot came to the future. Just so that you can complete a mission and bring him back again." Jeno chuckles. "It's so pitiful I could die."
"Shut up." You move on instinct and your blow sends him off balance; he falls back and slides down the wall, dazed. You stand over him, chest heaving, palms shaking. He wipes the blood at his lip, gives a crooked smile, and even from the floor his voice is steady
"But what you don't know-" Jeno's eyes returning back to human form, just as blood sips from his nose. You got him real good- but he doesn't stop talking. "Is that Jaemin is a backstabber. And he'll backstab you." you pause, a tiny hesitation before carrying on drawing a knife from your power to finally kill him. "Go ahead and kill me. You'll free him- but you'll never get Chenle back. So do it. Kill me. You'll have enough time to go home and get the stone to complete the ritual. You'll finally go home. But you'll never get Chenle back."
Your heart stutters and you pause once again midair with the knife - contemplating.
Taking advantage that you stopped, Jeno holds onto his side, feeling the bleeding coming from inside. He's dying. But he's not going to stop it... not until you do. "I've never hated you. In this timeline, I mourned your death alongside my friend Chenle. In this timeline you died in your sleep. Not because of natural causes, but because of that pasts actions. You've changed your future by coming here. You don't know this, but travling in time kills you. So in all timelines you'll be dead. And the man you want to save- he'll always be dead, because nature can't trust you anymore. You made a deal with Jaemin, who sold you a lie."
You shake your head. "He told me he can go back in time... to when Chenle was alive."
"One way or another he'll always die." This time, Jeno says it with a somber smile, eyes glistening in pain. "Even if you finish me here and steal your past, you won’t bring him back. Nature doesn’t forgive bargains that tear at its seams. The hole you make will only swallow more. Jaemin knew that — he always knew. He sent you because he wanted a surrogate to do the dirty work."
He sucks in a breath, pain flaring across his face, then leans forward and fixes you with a look that is almost pity.
"If you really want to save Chenle... go back to the past and die."
Tears blur your vision. "I don't even know what you're talking about. I just want to be with Chenle."
Jeno tilts his head. "Look at your wrist." You glance down. Your arms coated in complete darkness until your elbows. "You have nature's innocent blood spilled all over your hands. Nature will never be on your side ever again."
Your knees buckle. "I just wanted to save Chenle…"
"I've always wondered why he's alive in this timeline. But then you came and it all made sense." Jeno says, almost gently now. "Chenle is pure and you're not. Nature wants him to have another chance. Your life for his life." His gaze flicks to Chenle's fading face. Jeno's gaze softens, but it's not pity. It's resignation. Chenle is still breathing... probably still knocked out.
Jeno looks at you.
"You have to go back to the past," Jeno says. "Not to fix it. To finish it." His words only slice through you.
You shake your head, heart breaking again. "Back… to 1637? And die?"
Jeno nods solemnly. "Back to the fire. Back to the stake. Back to the moment you made your deal. You'd break the cycle of misery you've brought upon all your timelines. And who knows, maybe in the next timeline you and Chenle can be happy. So go back, and seal the fate you were supposed to have. Nature will trust you again."
Tears fall silently. "But… I'll die. I don't want to die."
You glance at Chenle, who's barely breathing. Every cell in your body screams no. But somewhere deeper… you already knew this was the end.
"Why?" you ask, voice cracked. "Why was this our fate?"
Jeno looks toward the window. "Because your child was never meant to be born. The bloodline of balance… dies with you. That's how nature rights itself."
He turns to you again. "Unless… you choose immortality like Jaemin. Join him. Live forever. Forget love. Forget pain. And you bring suffering upon this earth. But if you chose balance, know that life and death is certain."
You close your eyes. "I don’t care... I just wanted Chenle."
"Too bad nature won't let you have him." Jeno shuts his eyes painfully. But you panic.
"Please don't die." You shake your head. "I didn't mean it."
"Give up on your dream to save him, and accept your death. Then I won't die. I'll heal and help Chenle." Finally looking into your eyes again, which have turned normal and your glowing black hands have becoming normal again, Jeno knows you've made your decision. "Say goodbye to him. At least this time, you'll have the chance to."
You sniff, wiping your face with the back of your hand, and force yourself to stand. Your legs shake beneath you, each step to his side heavier than the last. When you finally reach him, you fall to your knees beside Chenle's still body. Gently, you gather him into your arms - cradling him like something fragile and sacred. His head rests against your shoulder, and for a moment, the room fades. There's only the weight of him, the warmth still lingering in his skin, and the ache cracking open inside your chest.
Tears slip down your cheeks, quiet and endless.
"I'm sorry," you whisper, your voice trembling. "I thought I could fix this. I really believed… if I tried hard enough, we could have more time." Your hand brushes the side of his face softly. "But I guess we were never meant to last forever. Maybe just long enough to matter."
You press your forehead against his. "Thank you for loving me the way you did. For making this life, even the broken parts, feel beautiful. I'll carry that with me… always.”
A sob catches in your throat, and you pull him tighter for a second, as if you could hold time still. As if the world might give him back, just for one breath longer.
"I love you, Chenle. In every version of time. And even if nature won't allow us to end together… I'm so glad we began." You let your eyes close, pressing one last kiss to his hair. You hold Chenle for a long time, breathing in the scent of his hair as though it could anchor you here. When at last you lay him gently down, your palms linger on his chest, fingers brushing over his shirt as if you're tracing memories instead of fabric.
Slowly, you rise. Your knees wobble, but you make yourself stand, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. The room feels hollow now, quieter than it should be.
You turn to Jeno. His smile is gone. In its place is something heavier, unreadable, but not unkind. He stands painfully and then leans against the edge of the table, one hand pressed to his side, his dark eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them.
"I'm ready," you whisper, voice hoarse. "I want to go back. I don't know if you can help me with that."
Jeno studies you for a long moment before he speaks. "It's not easy," he says quietly. "You can’t walk back through a door that isn't yours. You’ve tied yourself to Jaemin's bargain, and the only way to untie it is to reject it completely." He straightens a little, wincing at the movement. "That means going back the way you came. The place where time opened for you... the beach. If you want to return to your timeline… you'll have to drown."
You blink at him, stunned, but weakily let out. "Drown?"
"Not die," he says softly, shaking his head. "Not really. You're not ending your life, you're surrendering the false one Jaemin gave you. By drowning, you show nature that you refuse his deal. It will take you back to where you began."
Your throat tightens. "And Chenle?"
Jeno's gaze drifts to the boy’s still form, then back to you. "I'll take care of him," he says, voice low but steady. "In this side of the timeline, I'll make sure his story ends gently. That's all I can promise you. If it's good news, I see your daughter living on, creating a beautiful impact."
You sniff, shutting your eyes and any tears that want to escape. He lifts his free hand and traces a slow circle in the air. A dark shimmer blooms, rippling like oil on water, then splits into a wide, glowing oval. Through it, you can see the familiar beach: pale sand, restless waves, a horizon painted in grey and blue. The wind of that place brushes your face, salt and cold and wild.
"It's the best I can do," Jeno murmurs. "Go."
You step closer to the portal. For a heartbeat you look back at Chenle, at Jeno. Your tears return but softer now, like a tide receding. "Thank you," you whisper.
Jeno inclines his head once. It's not the first time Jaemin has sent someone through - Jeno has never been able to get to them... hence why he always killed them. But this time... seeing you give in, he can only hope that nature will be kind to you. Then you step through.
The beach explodes around you with the sound of wind and waves. Sand shifts under your feet. The sky is pale, the water restless and dark, and the horizon stretches like a wound.
You stand there for a long moment, tasting salt on your lips, the ocean’s roar in your ears. You wipe your tears with shaking hands. Then, slowly, you walk toward the surface. The cold water bites at your ankles, your knees, your waist. You keep going. At the edge where the waves crash over your chest, you close your eyes, draw one last breath of the wind... and sink beneath the surface.
The ocean swallows you whole. Everything goes quiet, cool, weightless. And just before darkness takes you, you feel the pull... not of drowning, but of being drawn back. Back to the past. Back to where it all began.
And when you're gone, there's a switch in the air, knowing that time is reversing back to the day that you're on the stake dying. Even Jisung feels it, that the events that he had with you are disappearing from his mind and he's going back....
Jeno simply closes his eyes, allowing time and nature to do what they must. It's when he opens his eyes does he get a call from Chenle...
"Hey, Jeno." The line finally connects. Chenle's voice cracks. "I need your help."
"Anything," comes the calm reply from Jeno, remembering everything.
Chenle swallows hard. "Can I… present my wife, Y/N, as a subject?" His voice trembles. "The private doctor said she died in her sleep. Natural causes. But I can't—" his breath catches, a sob breaking through. "I can't accept it." His grip tightens around the phone. "I need you to make a clone of her. Please."
"I need you to understand that a clone will never be her. It'll serve as a temporal figure, but it'll still be a robot with no emotions. Are you sure you want to go through with it?" Chenle pauses. Allowing Jeno to go on. "Instead of cloning your wife, how about preserving what you had — the memories, the legacy? Let me help you create something that honors her, not imitates her. A construct can mimic her face, but it can’t carry her soul. And you deserve more than a ghost pretending to love you."
-
Present Past: 1637
You gasp after you blink your eyes open... your heart hammering in your chest. There's a bright sun that's blasting heat all over your body which aches and you realize where you are, when you see people all around and you're tied on the stake. You look around weakly to all the faces in the crowd until you spot your father...
His eyes feel that there's been a shift in the air... that whatever you were planning on doing, you've stopped. And although it's painful to see the sight of his daughter about to burn... he looks up into your eyes and gives you an encouraging smile, to show he's not upset at you.
Seeing your fathers smile, eases your heart a bit for the terrible fate you're about to have. Your ears zone out all that the priest says, as you inhale and shut your eyes with your head down.
"Therefor by virtue of our law," he blesses his forehead, left and then right shoulder- prompting the crowd to do the same. before signaling the guards to light up their flames. "I condemn you, to burn here and in hell."
A guard leans over with a stake already burned and he lays it over the hay straws. Instantly fire catches and the flames rise.
Your toes recoil with heat and you avoid screaming, taking in the pain.
Meanwhile, locked in his cell, Jaemin stares into nothing, silent, seething. His brother had won. Again. And now, as the flames rise, the incantation that once bound you to him pulls tight - forcing him to feel every lick of fire burning through you. He gasps, doubling over, the pain shared, helpless to stop it.
It's hard to think of anything else but the fire burning your body. But with pure will, you shut your eyes to it all and think of Chenle. The fire crackles beneath your feet, smoke curling into the sky, but your heart is still. There is no fear left in you now. No regret.
Only love. You're happy you went to the future only for a while and got to spend time with him and say goodbye to him. The heat surrounds you, and your final thought is not of magic, or sacrifice, or revenge, but of Chenle.
The sound of his laugh. The way he said your name. The feeling of his arms around you, holding you like you were his whole world.
And just before everything fades, you smile. Because for a moment, you were his, and he was yours.
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Pairing - Dragon!Xiaojun x Dragon Warrior!AFAB Reader
Genre(s) - Fluff, Action, (Smut, Angst to be included in full fic) University!AU, Supernatural!AU
Warning(s) - supernatural happenings, fire (supernatural power), (reader has a lot of self-doubt and self-sabotages herself, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), face sitting to be included in the full fic)
Summary - Seeking shelter from a storm, you awaken something ancient in a forgotten temple. Xiaojun, radiant and wrathful, recognizes the fire in you from another lifetime, and you feel it too. As fire rises around you, so does a power you were never meant to carry alone.
Teaser Word Count - 1.2k
Estimated Release Date - August 31, 2025
Author’s Note - Happy late birthday to Xiaojun! I wanted to end his birthday month with at least one fic for him. This fic is also loosely based on American Dragon: Jake Long with some influence from Mulan as well.
Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet @neocity-net @k-films @cinneorolls @koishua @mey-archive (send an ask or leave a comment to be added!)
Part of my WayV: Awaken The World Collection.
Now playing: Domino - WayV
The storm came in without warning. One moment, the campus was lit in the soft gold of late evening, the next it was pouring.
You had meant to cut through an old hiking trail, a shortcut you’d taken before when you wanted to beat the rain. But the power had gone out mid-lecture, the campus a maze of shadow, and somehow your steps carried you deeper into the trees than you’d intended.
The rain found you fast. Sharp, cold needles soaked through your sweater in seconds. Wind rattled the branches until they groaned like something alive. You pulled your hood tighter and pressed onward, telling yourself you were headed in the right direction even as the mud sucked at your shoes.
That was when you saw it.
At first, it was just a darker shape in the tangle of trees, a jagged roofline against the slant of lightning. But as you drew closer, the outline sharpened. Weathered stone, carved pillars, and an archway caved in at one side. The locals called it ‘Dragon’s Rest’ though you’d only ever heard the name spoken in half-smiles, the way you might mention an urban legend.
A shiver threaded down your spine, and it had nothing to do with the cold.
Inside, the air was different, dry and somehow untouched by the storm that screamed outside. The ceiling had long since given way to the sky, but at the center of the ruin stood an altar of black stone, its surface etched with curling symbols you didn’t recognize.
Your fingers hovered over it. You were just curious to see if it was as cold as it looked.
It wasn’t.
The instant your skin met the stone, heat lanced through your palm. Not just heat, it was light, blinding and alive, pouring from the carvings and surging into the air until the whole ruin glowed like the heart of a furnace.
The storm outside went silent.
From the corner of your vision, a shape moved—a man stepping out of the air itself, the heat bending around him like reverence. He emerged the way an apparition might in an old legend, edges blurring into smoke before sharpening into impossible clarity.
The moment his form took shape, the ruin seemed to respond. The flames along the braziers rose in unison, their light pooling toward him as though bowing. Shadows clung to the far corners, rippling like living things, unwilling to cross into his presence. Even the air shifted, scented faintly of rain on stone and something older like burning cedar and smoldering incense.
His hair was dark, heavy like silk that caught with gold at the edges as though it remembered sunlight from another age. His face was carved in strong, deliberate lines. The proud sweep of high cheekbones, the unyielding set of his jaw, the bridge of his nose, so straight as if shaped by a sculptor’s hand. His eyes…molten, unblinking, alive with a glow so faint you almost doubted.
He wore the remnants of a traditional shenyi, layers of deep crimson and black fabric, threaded with patterns that shifted in the firelight as though alive. The fabric whispered against itself with each step, heavy with a history you couldn’t read.
He was beautiful in the way of something that had never been human, his presence pressing against your ribs until your breath hitched.
“You broke the ward,” he said, his voice low but threaded with something fiery and angry.
You took a step back, but the altar still burned against your palm, holding you in place. “I—I didn’t mean to!”
“Didn’t mean to?” His gaze swept over you like he was memorizing something. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
The heat in the ruin flared with his anger, shadows writhing along the walls. But beneath that fury was something else. Recognition. As if he had been waiting for you.
Outside, the last fork of lightning died. The rain lessened to a faint drizzle.
Inside, his eyes locked on yours. You swore they had the faintest glow about them.
And somewhere in your chest, something you couldn’t name stirred awake.
Your breath stuttered, torn between the instinct to run and the inexplicable pull to step closer. The warmth seeping from the altar into your hand was no longer just heat. It was a pulse, slow but deliberate, echoing in your bones like it knew your name.
“I…” Your voice faltered under the weight of his gaze. “I was just trying to get out of the rain.”
“This place is not shelter,” he snapped, each word edged like a blade. “It was a seal. And you—” His eyes flared, gold catching like embers stirred to life. “You have undone it.”
The flames leaned toward him, feeding off his rising emotions. Somewhere high in the shadows, the old timbers groaned as if remembering storms far worse than the one outside. You wanted to look away from him, from the impossible, but the sight rooted you in place.
“What does that even mean?” The question came out sharper than you meant, a defense against the way his presence hollowed the air between you.
“It means,” he began slowly, like he was weighing the value of each syllable, “you are not safe here. You are not safe anywhere now.”
The words pressed in colder than the rain outside. You could feel it. The shift in the air, the way the ruin’s warmth now felt protective rather than oppressive.
Then, with sudden, violent intensity, he stepped forward, closing the space between you in a single stride. The heat rolled off him in waves, and for a heartbeat, you thought you saw the faint outline of something vast behind him. Wings made of firelight, curling and folding away before you could be certain.
“Leave.” His voice cracked like thunder. “Now.”
The command struck something primal in you, sending your heart into your throat. The altar’s burn released your hand, leaving your skin tingling. You stumbled backward, barely keeping your balance as you turned.
You didn’t look back as you sped off. The ruin’s heat vanished the moment you crossed its threshold, replaced by the cold bite of rain-slick air. The storm had passed, but the world still felt heavy, charged, as if holding its breath.
The short trail leading to your apartment seemed longer, each shadow between the trees a place where his molten gaze might appear. Your clothes clung to you, damp with sweat instead of rain, and your pulse hadn’t slowed by the time the first streetlight came into view.
By the time you reached your apartment, your hands still trembled. You locked the door behind you, leaning against it as if it could keep the memory of the encounter out.
But when you closed your eyes, you saw him again. The fire in his eyes, fury in his voice, and something else beneath it all. Something that felt too much like recognition.
And you weren’t even sure if what you had seen was real.
mint chocolate shirt — track 11 : fired and restraining orders 🤞
224 words + screenshots below !
with each step towards the dreaded door, the weight of your foot felt heavier as if the resistance could change your fate. i’m so screwed. you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the hellfire you’re about to face, before following your manager into the room.
your eyes flickered throughout the room to familiarize yourself with each new face, locking at him. a hint of confusion filled his face before immediately returning to his usual smile.
“you’re here,” the director smiled, “great, let’s start now.”
worries buzzed through your mind, and his presence only confirmed it. perhaps it was foolish to assume an idol could have the same freedom as a regular girl.
“i’m sure you’re both wondering what this meeting is for. as you may know, sunghoon and wonyoung have been the mcs for music bank this past year,” the director paused waiting for confirmation, “well, music bank has decided to replace them with the two of you. so, you will work alongside one another for the indefinite future.”
disbelief flooded the two faces, mixing with differing emotions. a dream for you, yet a nightmare for jungwon. and at that moment, jungwon wished he really was fired instead.
“i believe the two of you will be professional and deliver an excellent performance. so, i’ll leave you two to get to know each other.”
SYNOPSIS. back in 2020, jungwon accidentally bumped into a girl, causing her mint chocolate chip ice cream to stain his crisp white shirt. with no time to change, jungwon had to go to his first inkigayo performance with a huge green circle on his shirt that his members constantly tease him for. now, two years later, jungwon bumps into you again, only this time, the mint chocolate chip ice cream stains your shirt.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE. ermm yes it’s been like a year since i’ve updated it but better late than never right 😁👍👍 also idk if i’ll post again so sorry for leaving you guys on a cliff hanger if it is 🙂↕️🙂↕️
if you guys liked this, please reblog or leave a comment to let me know !!
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